Life at the university has picked back up again. This week I’ve been flailing under an avalanche of sticky notes and emails and phone calls asking me to rearrange classes, times, locations, lunch menus, and acoustic panels. (I also had to deal with an unfortunate situation I’m calling, “Christmas Tree, Over and Over Again.” I am hopeful, however, that the third Christmas tree they send will possess all its requisite parts.)
I made it home yesterday and fell onto my couch, my whole being the limpest noodle. My eyes were leaking, from sadness or exhaustion — it wasn’t clear. So I started watching inane YouTube videos, as one does. I stumbled on an interesting fellow who makes videos about life as an INFJ. (If you’re not familiar with the Myers-Briggs personality test, you should fall down that internet rabbit hole and meet me on the other side.) I am an INFJ, proudly representing 1-3% of the world’s population. We’re a rare breed. And, as I discovered from watching an obscene amount of YouTube videos, we are weird.
I always knew I was not like other people, but I didn’t know that my weirdness fits into a category.
(Does that make it no longer weird?)
It is a life of interminable thinking. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to wake up and not care what’s going to happen, not plan what’s going to happen, just walk out the door and let the world hit you in the face.
I mean, the world often hits me in the face, but I usually work it into my plans.
Somehow this whole couch-laying, YouTube watching moment I ended up at this video describing why my INFJness is keeping me single.
Then I started to wonder, doesn’t everyone crave to be understood to the uttermost part of their soul?
Apparently the answer is probably no.
I went on a few dates right after Christmas with a fellow. We ate soup, talked about making houses out of straw. We went out again and played Monopoly Deal for hours and talked. I thought we had a wonderful time, as far as dating goes. When we parted, he promised to text and set up something again soon. I went home believing that we were enjoying the process of learning about each other.
However, I woke up that next morning to a midnight text from said fellow letting me know that he’s “simply not attracted to me and goodbye and good luck” and so on. (It is another post to discuss how a grown man can think it’s okay to send that kind of text to another sentient being.)
But here’s where I’m left. I want, as Stephen Fry said, something “surprising, savoury, sharp, unusual, cosmopolitan, alien, challenging, complex, ambiguous” instead of your ordinary “chicken nuggets.”
I suppose I will be single until I find someone who can, would like to, and will likely enjoy a connection with my bizarre and surprising soul.
Let me know if you have an idea of where he might be.
PS — The picture, I’m sure, represents some part of my brain or lymphatic system or essential organs, whatever makes me so odd.