“I’m down with the MB, showing off my PT…”
As in Meyers Briggs Personality Traits, um, what were you thinking? Geez.
According to http://www.personality-power-for-everyday-living.com/INFP.html INFPs ( typically display the following characteristics:
- Is naturally empathetic and compassionate
- Is quietly and very idealistically watching everything
- Is naturally skilled communicators drawn to new ideas
- Is future oriented may struggle with in-the-moment practical thinking
- Is looking for meaning in absolutely everything and everyone
- Needs to believe they have contributed something to life
- Is deeply concerned with harmony and maintaining harmony is critical
- May appear at times to be aloof and cool, but still water run deep
- Does not have great respect for rules and regulations per se
- Is typically attracted to the abstract and symbolic
- Usually very open minded with a classless approach to people/society
Are they saying we INFPs are classless as in class-less? Or non classy? Unassigning class? 🙂 Whichever, this looks pretty good.
Oohhh, under stress we also are known for :
- May bit off more than they can chew when under stress
- Will become rigid and perfectionist, feel very inadequate and self-critical
- May begin to take everything very personally and feel hurt (don’t make me turn off the comments and disable my email)
My favorite summary was on Personality Page. Bizarrely accurate. Made sense why we make each other nuts when we don’t understand the core of who someone is created to be.
Curious about your character traits that might describe you? Check out Personality Pathways.com for a free inventory. There seem to be 16 combinations, and it was fun to see how close the results were.
I was relieved to find out that INFPs make good writers. At least I am not passionate about the wrong field!
What is your opinion about these tests, take a quiz and come back here to share the results.
I miss the smell of a real Christmas tree. We have been using a fake one for several years, and it is beautiful. And, well, an imitation. I doesn’t bring back memories I hold dearly the fragrance of Pine does.
Where I grew up there were large tree farms, nestled into the foothills. I couldn’t WAIT to go pick out our tree. We’d carefully search the rows, walking around looking for bare spots, Dad checking the trunk for straightness. This is a tradition we were able to carry on with our girls each time we’d go back home, until a few years ago when the last hold out finally sold their land for real estate development. The farm would tag our tree until we came back to pick it up close to Christmas. Wonderful memories, mostly.
There was that one year. Remember those foothills? One farm had rather steep developments so the trees were in levels. My dad thought it would be funny to go one row down. Just as I leaned in (evening, mind you. As the years go by, the darker it becomes) he reached out and grabbed my ankle to startle me. It was effective. I didn’t laugh, and as I remember, I don’t think my mother did either. Ah, but that was just one memory.
The rest were pure delight.
When I was around 8, a crafty afternoon was spent creating this beautiful angel tree topper. Foil wrapped T.P. tube, curling ribbon mane of gold. I was proud for about one Christmas.
Her beauty faded in my eyes, but not for my parents. They refused to remove her for some years, and by the time they did, I started to feel nostalgic for her. I am grateful she is still snugly tucked into their box of decorations.
I begged for her return a few years back, and to see my dad placing her on the top brought a daughter’s heart delight.
My dear husband was surprised when a former employee presented him with a present. The man had written a book, and taken the liberty to create a villian from my husband, slightly modifying the name. He kindly autographed it with an appreciative note for using him as a main character. Very thoughtful, and, hmmm, flattering? My husband is about as mild mannered as you’ll ever find, but his new alter ego, Bart Sterkin, is an old West hooligan of the most treacherous kind. Maybe he is a tougher boss than we realized?
I am being tormented this week by my dismal lack of upkeep on writing related notes. A year. Two. Piles of scraps slowly accumulate.
The thought did come up to just toss every pile, without care. I was so close. But then, what if my best ideas were in this pile? The one. So if I am asked to write a paper describing what I did on my summer vacation (unlikely, but possible) the truth’ll be right here. Each and every scrap scrutinized for decipherable ideas.
Some people think in organized fashion. I, although organized, think like a pinball. Ding, ding. ding. My idea bounces from one brain cell to another. Writing on little scraps wastes my time it would seem. There is less time for real writing I chide myself . Ding. Ding. Most notes curve this way and that. No logical columns. Circular notes. Partial words and phrases. Ding.
But when the ball settles squarely against the flipper, impact! And so it is with my ideas. Ding. Ding. Almost. Ding. Ahh! I have it, and I am ready. Is this a hassle? You betcha. Will I change? Unlikely. My drawer groans beneath the weight of various journals. Beautiful and functional. But… they lack the siren song of impulse, the surface of a random napkin or receipt. Part of creativity might just be process of scraps. Tossing the unusable. Savoring what is left.
On a recent flight, I glanced up to see a man walking down the airplane aisle. The man who if we were honest, we’d admit that we all hope didn’t sit by us. Disheveled, smiling around at no one in particular as he unintentionally knocked his bag around. When he stopped at my row, I felt guilty for these thoughts and looked up to smile at him. I do not want to judge people, strangers I know nothing about, just put off a bit by their appearance. That is not who I want to be. So, I smiled. That committed me for the flight. Read the rest of this entry
Driving along listening to one of my favorite old cds , my daughter pipes up “Is this that guy Chris you talked about?” The cd was Temple of the Dog and he and Eddie Vedder were singing “Hunger Strike“. I was thinking how people fuss about Steven Tyler all the time, who does indeed rock. Slightly after Chris Cornell. I admit I’ve had a voice crush on him for almost two decades since Soundgarden was big. The obnoxious kind of crush where any time he is singing, I too must singly along as loudly (and sadly out of tune) as I can squeak out. When I drive I have to use cruise control when I sing with him to avoid speeding tickets. So, I told the kids I think he is my favorite male vocalist ever.
But, what about my lifelong passion for Johnny Mathis’ Christmas music? The records my mom had for my entire childhood? My loyalty is divided. And I admit, somewhat random based on those two choices.
Who would you choose?
BTW: Chris is the first singer, Eddie the second.
The longer I live, the more I realize there are just too many hobbies to choose from. It is impossible to be involved in hula contests, racing mini bikes, ghost hunting, or frying new things like Koolaid or butter. But…I am starting a campaign to bring back freestyle canoeing. You haven’t heard of it? Hmm, odd.
Nevertheless, after watching it on TV last week I was fascinated. Partly by the actual sport and mostly by the passionate participants. Their excitement was contagious and after all, Peninsula, Ohio must not be too far from my home.
It isn’t as easy as it looks apparantly (and having canoed in recent years, we could barely balance the thing), scoring is based on technical and artistic skills. And whatever you do, avoid Bobbling. It reeks of amatuer.
Obedience Training For Your Canoe”
Picture from google