OOOOH! I'm so excited. Thank you to Camp Hill Girl and Life And Lessons for the great links to sites that further explain the personality summary from my Sunday post. I've done lots of different personality surveys, but can never, ever for the life of me remember what all the letters of this particular one (mine are ENFJ) stand for. I've checked some great sites from both of these gals at which my particular personality tendencies are discussed at great length. Sparing no detail. Taking their pound of flesh as they lay out my strengths and weaknesses for the whole world to see.
Not only did I not remember what all that gobbedly-gook stood for, it seems that it's my personality-type's tendency is to not really care about what it stands for. Unless I actually know someone with that particular combination of gobbedly-gook. And now I do. So I do. Care, that is. I read the description here, and feel somewhat excited that someone out there could capture all that into words. Real words that I understand and can ponder. I love the words. Words flowing on a page excite me. But I am also feeling somewhat irritated. I don't think I completely like being "understood" that way. With all my warts and wrinkles out there. On the Internet. In books. What happened to the mystery of a woman? Will I have any mystique whatsoever now that I've shared the link with all of you?
It's bad enough that after 17 years of marriage (The Boss and I celebrated on Saturday, by seeing The 3:10 To Yuma and chowing down on traditional Irish fare at a new pub he discovered), there's little about me that keeps The Boss guessing. Especially when it comes to the running of our home and the routines of our life (broken down by hours on my well-laid out, neatly written calendar on the fridge, for all to see!). And certainly when it comes to loving me in my lingo: just be with me. Talk to me. A lot. Just talk and hold my hand. While there is tremendous comfort in that familiarity and it certainly acts as a wonderful anchor in my life, I am experiencing a vague feeling of unease that someone out there has written (and quite eloquently I might add!) about me. About me as an ENFJ. I feel squirmy inside, as if I'm trying to escape that giant pin that I see hovering overhead as it tries to tack me to the boards. As if the worms are all wriggling to get out of their tightly constrained little bait can that is yawning open at one end.
So now, I am wondering what completely NON - ENFJ thing I can accomplish in the next two hours before The Boss gets home. But I'm feeling crippled: dinner is already planned. The house is already picked up and tidy. The kids are quietly following their prescribed afternoon routine, singing silly songs while they work on their homework. And I'm sitting here typing my brains out, writing and creating. Doing all those things that (apparently!) the ENFJ does for the people she loves.
Who knew that a fun little blog survey could have the power to open up such a huge can of worms. Now, please excuse me while I spend some time alone. Apparently it's very important that I do that, but only until my thoughts start to turn dark. Then, I must find people. HA! Who am I kidding? If I actually get to spend some time alone, the people find me. Every time. Even with the bathroom door locked and the fan running on HIGH.
Not only did I not remember what all that gobbedly-gook stood for, it seems that it's my personality-type's tendency is to not really care about what it stands for. Unless I actually know someone with that particular combination of gobbedly-gook. And now I do. So I do. Care, that is. I read the description here, and feel somewhat excited that someone out there could capture all that into words. Real words that I understand and can ponder. I love the words. Words flowing on a page excite me. But I am also feeling somewhat irritated. I don't think I completely like being "understood" that way. With all my warts and wrinkles out there. On the Internet. In books. What happened to the mystery of a woman? Will I have any mystique whatsoever now that I've shared the link with all of you?
It's bad enough that after 17 years of marriage (The Boss and I celebrated on Saturday, by seeing The 3:10 To Yuma and chowing down on traditional Irish fare at a new pub he discovered), there's little about me that keeps The Boss guessing. Especially when it comes to the running of our home and the routines of our life (broken down by hours on my well-laid out, neatly written calendar on the fridge, for all to see!). And certainly when it comes to loving me in my lingo: just be with me. Talk to me. A lot. Just talk and hold my hand. While there is tremendous comfort in that familiarity and it certainly acts as a wonderful anchor in my life, I am experiencing a vague feeling of unease that someone out there has written (and quite eloquently I might add!) about me. About me as an ENFJ. I feel squirmy inside, as if I'm trying to escape that giant pin that I see hovering overhead as it tries to tack me to the boards. As if the worms are all wriggling to get out of their tightly constrained little bait can that is yawning open at one end.
So now, I am wondering what completely NON - ENFJ thing I can accomplish in the next two hours before The Boss gets home. But I'm feeling crippled: dinner is already planned. The house is already picked up and tidy. The kids are quietly following their prescribed afternoon routine, singing silly songs while they work on their homework. And I'm sitting here typing my brains out, writing and creating. Doing all those things that (apparently!) the ENFJ does for the people she loves.
Who knew that a fun little blog survey could have the power to open up such a huge can of worms. Now, please excuse me while I spend some time alone. Apparently it's very important that I do that, but only until my thoughts start to turn dark. Then, I must find people. HA! Who am I kidding? If I actually get to spend some time alone, the people find me. Every time. Even with the bathroom door locked and the fan running on HIGH.
2 comments:
This was hysterical. And, you're still you in a way no one can completely pin down. I loved reading about the personality types because it explained to me how other people can see things and do things differently and yet be really great people, and how my strengths are really worthwhile even if no one quite comprehends them. But then, I'm an INFP, and we probably like that kind of insight.
I have very strong suspicion that there is a whole lot more to you than any personality test can say. After all does it say anything about you having an intense liking for bullriding? Or that you get so excited about a few shelves at the library that were seemingly put there just for you? The answer is No No No......
LOL
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