Capricorns are commonly described as "saturnine"; i.e., gloomy, lugubrious, glum, morose. We're cold and remote, patient and determined, fatalistic, pessimistic, miserly and grudging. We are earth signs, goats above all—climbers whose feet never leave the ground, blah blah blah.
I don't know about you, but I would call this 100% accurate. I am a wintry soul. I am a crabby apple! I do believe we're doomed! I like what I like and I don't like to share! The "patient" part is true only insofar as I like to plan ahead and move according to my own timeline, but the rest of it seems right on to me.
And I'm okay with this idea of myself: it's the side of me that wanted most to live in New York City, the same side that tries to resist what Carol Shields calls that “dumb sunniness,” that easy, automatic reflex to smooth things over, to not make a fuss, which—I'm sure you've noticed—females in particular are often encouraged to do. I’m not saying go forth into the world and act like a deliberate asshole to everyone you meet, but at the very least I think it’s important that the story you tell yourself about yourself not be too easy or glossy or neat. Own your difficult moods. Own the ground that you stand on (unless it's already owned by the government). Own your goddamn right not to smile. You don't even need to blame that shit on your star sign.
And yet. Yet! For all that, who would've thought the most noticeable feature on my face would be the laugh lines?