Imagine yourself 20 years from now. You're sitting on someone's back patio at a BBQ, a dinner party, whatever it may be. Maybe you're married, maybe you're not. The sun's streaming through the branches in the trees, and the wind's blowing gently and warmly, passing by your skin. Wherever your family may be, you sit alone, amongst women and men of various ages. This would've terrified you years before, without the aid of a close one. But not this time. You've grown to love chit-chatting with people to just catch up with them. And you sit there satisfied, casually bringing up a basis for conversation.
"Can you believe how much we've all grown?" a woman in her 50's laughs. "Well, I mean, how much we've all matured and grown up. How much time has gone by. Can you believe that?" some people nod, some make the mm-hmm of agreement they often would use after a religious comment.
"I know, it's crazy..." someone responds. You don't dive in too deep about it, for the deed has been done, but the silence implies you've gotten everyone thinking. Life goes by much faster than it feels in the moment. When you look back and think of how much time you sped through, you feel a sense of accomplishment somehow.
You giggle to yourself, and watch the kids contently as they play in the grass.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Friday, May 2, 2014
My Quest For Authenticity
The other day in my blue spiral notebook, I began to write about the person I truly wanted to be. And what I've found is that essentially, I want to be me, only not so kept to myself. I wish I was more expressive. I said that I wanted to be a painter. I wanted to like being messy. I don't necessarily want want to be considered "scatter-brained" as artists tend to be known as, but I want it to be obvious to people who I am. I don't really want it to be a secret anymore. I would love everyone to know from the moment they meet me that I'm eccentric, artsy, and charismatic. I wish I was confident.
You know, I totally don't give a solitary crap about what I wear. But there are times that I kind of wish I did. I don't want to care a lot- the LAST thing I want to be is a flippin' fashionista, I just wish I could be one of those people who just got highlights and a mow-hawk (maybe not that far, but you get the point). I wish I could wear really retro clothing- like a 60's dress, or 70's hippie garb. Because in all honestly, I'm in love with that stuff. But no. Because I'm a timid wimp, even the way I dress makes me look boring.
Let me tell you what I'm talking about: you know Iona from Pretty in Pink? How she was always oozing with confidence, and it was made blatantly obvious that she was interesting by the way she dressed? She went all over the grid for outfits, and she honestly rocked every one of them. Her confidence, her artsiness, her interestingness... they're all qualities I've been working to possess.
You know, I totally don't give a solitary crap about what I wear. But there are times that I kind of wish I did. I don't want to care a lot- the LAST thing I want to be is a flippin' fashionista, I just wish I could be one of those people who just got highlights and a mow-hawk (maybe not that far, but you get the point). I wish I could wear really retro clothing- like a 60's dress, or 70's hippie garb. Because in all honestly, I'm in love with that stuff. But no. Because I'm a timid wimp, even the way I dress makes me look boring.
Let me tell you what I'm talking about: you know Iona from Pretty in Pink? How she was always oozing with confidence, and it was made blatantly obvious that she was interesting by the way she dressed? She went all over the grid for outfits, and she honestly rocked every one of them. Her confidence, her artsiness, her interestingness... they're all qualities I've been working to possess.
But, as I've come to realize, there's a fine line between "good weird" and "bad weird". Sometimes I embrace the eccentric to such a degree that I scare myself. It's almost as if I've gone one estranged song overboard on the normalcy scale, and I feel like I need to run back to the most common thing I can think of for safety. But why? Really, what is normal? Whenever I ponder over the most normal things typical teenagers embrace nowadays, I think of these:
-lives in the suburbs
-isn't religious at all, perhaps even atheist (or loose Christian)
-gets decent grades
-has strict, annoying parents
-has Instagram, Snapchat, Vine, etc. and is on constantly
-has a dog
-likes bacon, or says they do to be clever, I guess
-has a boyfriend/girlfriend, and has had several in the past
-has a Facebook, but rarely uses it anymore
-has their permit, maybe their license, and some kind of job
-has gone to teen parties
-has gotten drunk for fun
-needs Starbucks every morning
-uses startling swears in regular conversation
-is democratic or not political
-has AP whatever it is because "it looks good on college applications"
-is in some kind of sport
-has clothing from Hollister, Forever 21, etc.
-speaks in memes and internet references
-loves horror movies
-has an iPhone
...I made this list a while back based on casual observations I've made on the stereotypical teenager these days. And it occurred to me that this arbitrary list of requirements is my personal concept of what society believes is "normal." So why on Earth would I want to run there?! Perhaps because I don't relate with any of these concepts on the list, and that means that I'm almost too weird. Ya get my drift?
My taste, I've realized, goes off the grid. I had no idea until recently that my sense of style was so bizarre. I find myself drawn to unnaturally colored hair and ratty worn rags for clothing. I didn't know I liked that sort of thing. To be honest, I always saw myself as more of a basic jeans and a tee shirt kind of girl. And outwardly, I am. But apparently, if I had no social boundaries, I would dress like a complete hippie. And, sometimes, like a 90's grunge lover. And occasionally like a suburban mother from the 50's. And everything in between.
I think my newly found desire to dye my hair the colors of the rainbow came from movies like Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The heroines dye their hair regularly, and interestingly enough, in both movies, their love interests describe them as "impulsive" because of it. Why does that idea inspire me? Maybe because I'm not impulsive at all, and I wish I was, because that would make me interesting. I already wrote about my desire to be "me, but louder". I find myself wanting to save being anything until I'm old enough to be "an individual". Maybe when I'm moved out and I get paid, I can actually buy clothing I like. Wow, and it doesn't even have to be clothes! Furniture, movies, CD's, posters...FOOD... I'd have my own weird little sanctuary! Wow, I'd make a really strange adult... I can just imagine inviting people into my rabbit hole... It would be flooded by old culture and deteriorating couches... I would love it, of course, but would it ever make me want to run? Would it, perhaps, be too eccentric?
This is my problem. Finding a satisfying balance between "normal", who I really am, and who I'd rather be. But maybe normal doesn't matter. Whatever normal really is, it should have no affect on the person you really are. I've never been one who duplicated what was cool. I do, however, have a definite style that I've come up with all on my own, and there's something kind of wonderful about that. Just becoming your own individual, even though it's scary. Sometimes, finding yourself is just fascinating.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Journal Entry #2: Bizarre Indie Rock
Friday, 12/6/13
What the author of that book said reminded me of last night when I clicked on "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" by Stars, and I looked up and just watched the radio.
"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire." the voice said, sternly and authoritatively. I stopped and just listened. The trumpets introduce us to the music as the bass goes up, the strings snapping as the fingers shift positions. And the trumpets continue their verse by easing down the scale.
I watched the stereo resting on the table so bluntly, so frankly, and all the rest of my surroundings vanished. None of them mattered. I almost took out my camera to record the simple beauty, but instead, I told myself to just live in the moment and just let it sink in.
I listened to "Love Your Abuser" by Lymbyc Systym about 6 times in a row, because for some reason, I just wanted to hear pleasant musical noises. That song sounds like some brain scientist studied which sounds are naturally pleasant to the human ear, and what releases endorphins, and got a group of musicians together and told them to perform with feeling. There's not even a tempo or a melody until the last minute of the song. A majority of it is just beautiful sounds. I guess that's what music is. They just make it less complicated.
There's just something so incredibly beautiful about the song. It's a great song to let wash over you when you're in a calm, vulnerable space. When you're just lying on your bed, pondering over every intricate detail of your life, or even simply lying there with blank thoughts, the song just cradles your inner world and creates a miniature reality for you. It's not even a song, it's an experience in itself.
I showed it to Courtney one sleepover, as I was showing her all of the eccentric music I stumbled upon over the past few months, and within the first few seconds, she expressed her approval with her entire being: "I LOVE this song!!" It was her first time hearing it, and it already won her over that fast. I'm not exactly sure where this song came from, or how I discovered it, but I'm sure glad I did.
What the author of that book said reminded me of last night when I clicked on "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" by Stars, and I looked up and just watched the radio.
"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire." the voice said, sternly and authoritatively. I stopped and just listened. The trumpets introduce us to the music as the bass goes up, the strings snapping as the fingers shift positions. And the trumpets continue their verse by easing down the scale.
I watched the stereo resting on the table so bluntly, so frankly, and all the rest of my surroundings vanished. None of them mattered. I almost took out my camera to record the simple beauty, but instead, I told myself to just live in the moment and just let it sink in.
I listened to "Love Your Abuser" by Lymbyc Systym about 6 times in a row, because for some reason, I just wanted to hear pleasant musical noises. That song sounds like some brain scientist studied which sounds are naturally pleasant to the human ear, and what releases endorphins, and got a group of musicians together and told them to perform with feeling. There's not even a tempo or a melody until the last minute of the song. A majority of it is just beautiful sounds. I guess that's what music is. They just make it less complicated.
There's just something so incredibly beautiful about the song. It's a great song to let wash over you when you're in a calm, vulnerable space. When you're just lying on your bed, pondering over every intricate detail of your life, or even simply lying there with blank thoughts, the song just cradles your inner world and creates a miniature reality for you. It's not even a song, it's an experience in itself.
I showed it to Courtney one sleepover, as I was showing her all of the eccentric music I stumbled upon over the past few months, and within the first few seconds, she expressed her approval with her entire being: "I LOVE this song!!" It was her first time hearing it, and it already won her over that fast. I'm not exactly sure where this song came from, or how I discovered it, but I'm sure glad I did.
Journal Entry #1: Writing in Public
Wednesday, 10/23/13
Now I'm in this class, and we're put in table groups again. I always dread having to sit in these groups. I can't just write without feeling like I'm being watched, or without feeling uneasy the whole time my hand's in motion, anticipating being forced to share it with the group. I'm so awkward. I don't want to tell everyone around me the raw thoughts I was just having. It's like pouring my mind and heart onto a page, believing it'll be locked away and kept a secret from everyone but you forever, until someone evil takes it and hangs it bluntly on the wall. People pass by and glance at the mess; the raw emotion that was once locked away inside me. They look, they process the information, and just like that, hell silently breaks loose. People judge. They laugh. They're insulted. They think it sucks. And once your dignity has been crumbled into a fine, lifeless powder, you're work is taken off the wall and given back to you. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" they'll say with a gleam in their eye. You are now a slave to that one thing you wrote, whether it be about the way the sun looks coming through the window, your thoughts on religion, or just about how good you think guacamole is. No one will ever see you in the same light they once did when they thought you were just an innocent, thoughtless human being. You are simply the words on the page before you.
Sorry, I got on a rampage there.
Now I'm in this class, and we're put in table groups again. I always dread having to sit in these groups. I can't just write without feeling like I'm being watched, or without feeling uneasy the whole time my hand's in motion, anticipating being forced to share it with the group. I'm so awkward. I don't want to tell everyone around me the raw thoughts I was just having. It's like pouring my mind and heart onto a page, believing it'll be locked away and kept a secret from everyone but you forever, until someone evil takes it and hangs it bluntly on the wall. People pass by and glance at the mess; the raw emotion that was once locked away inside me. They look, they process the information, and just like that, hell silently breaks loose. People judge. They laugh. They're insulted. They think it sucks. And once your dignity has been crumbled into a fine, lifeless powder, you're work is taken off the wall and given back to you. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" they'll say with a gleam in their eye. You are now a slave to that one thing you wrote, whether it be about the way the sun looks coming through the window, your thoughts on religion, or just about how good you think guacamole is. No one will ever see you in the same light they once did when they thought you were just an innocent, thoughtless human being. You are simply the words on the page before you.
Sorry, I got on a rampage there.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Excerpts From Various Notebooks
I say I want to go home all day, and once I'm there, I say it again. I'm just never satisfied. I don't think it's home I really want to be- I think it's just anywhere other than where I am. I just would rather be in someone else's shoes. Always.
I hate it when during soft songs, the singer's voice is 3 times louder than the music in the background. The singer just thinks they're super important. That kind of attitude just makes me want to shut them up and just listen to the background. They're important, too, ya know.
I woke up this morning with a strange desire to wack everything with a hammer. When I opened my eyes, I looked over at the bookshelf across from my bed, and I began to mull over the failed interactions of last night, and suddenly, I had a weapon in my hands, and the bookshelf was in pieces, the mirror was shattered, the TV was destroyed, and my guitar lay on the floor, strings curling upward. Then I awakened from my fantasy, and everything was back in its place. Simply nothing goes my way.
I am wise beyond my years with the imagination of a young child, trapped in the obnoxiously hormonal position of a teenage girl.
I don't know what it is about my obsession with how I'm gonna look when I'm an old lady. The more I think about it, the more I can see it- I'd still have long hair, it would just be gray and stringy. I can picture being tall and slouchy, probably still generally skinny, and I'd be wrinkly. I'd strive to be one of those sweet old ladies that look like just nice people that are respectable and easy to talk to. That's what I want to be when I grow up. But in all honesty, I think I'm too odd to be one of those. Maybe I should strive to be insane instead.
I can picture myself as a mom really easily, too. I can see myself wanting girls but getting boys (at least for my first one) and then turning into a tougher, less spineless human being because of my dealings with them. Maybe I'd have a girl or two to talk to, and she won't be anything at all that I'd want her to be. She'd probably be really stubborn or mainstream or popular or feminine or social or something that I can't relate to at all. Maybe she'd be a tomboy and she's hate barbies and crush my soul, and she'd only have guy friends and she'd judge all the things I hold near and dear, like writing and music. Yeah. Maybe boys are better.
It's just so weird that I'm completely oblivious to the people in my life in just a few years. All I can do right now is daydream about them. I mean, I could be responsible for a whole new life, thus creating a whole new family unit. It would be so wonderful... That's what I want to do with my life one day. If I can't be good at anything else, this is one thing I would want to master.
I don't really often let myself loose and just be sad about things. I'll just lie to myself and say everything's fine, and I'll remain naive and neutral about my daily routine. I don't really often cry, and I do it even less often around people.
I do that a lot, huh? I find something new and revolutionize it, like "Yes. This is the pen I'll be using from now on." I do that for everything, every concept. I never think realistically that I'll only be using it for now. It's because I never live in the now. I make too much a fuss over everything. I get my hopes too high.
Everyone my age thinks that they're older than they actually are.
Once the bell rang, I bounced from my chair, grabbing my backpack. I was reentering the chaos of the hallways, preparing myself for all the obnoxious crowd adrenaline that comes with it. There's something kind of bitterly beautiful about stepping into a crowd like that. When you remain quiet and you slip through the obstacles, trying not to get in anyone's way. You watch people talk, take note of the couples kissing and holding hands. They're all paired off quite nicely. There's a beautiful melancholy I've gotten used to after seeing it so many times.
Everyone I know doesn't know me.
Ever since I was little, I was deep in thought. I was constantly imagining things, daydreaming and romanticizing concepts that have never really been a reality for me yet.
I'm the kind of pretty that you see in pictures of someone's great grandmother when they were young. They're not perfectly stunning, but they look kind of feminine and better in comparison to their old and unsightly selves, so you feel compelled to comment on it by saying, "Oh, she's so pretty!" but you know that if you placed them next to another average looking girl, they wouldn't look that great. It's all perspective. When I'm next to really grotesque looking people, I'm kind of a pleasant surprise. But that's really all I am.
I have my grandma's smile. I don't remember much about her, but I remember her smile, and I'm always reminded of it whenever I look at the mirror. It's just when I smile with my mouth closed, though- that's when we smile the same. It's the thin, meek lips. I always preferred smiling that way, and it makes me look at myself and see all the people that made Amelia possible.
I hate it when during soft songs, the singer's voice is 3 times louder than the music in the background. The singer just thinks they're super important. That kind of attitude just makes me want to shut them up and just listen to the background. They're important, too, ya know.
I woke up this morning with a strange desire to wack everything with a hammer. When I opened my eyes, I looked over at the bookshelf across from my bed, and I began to mull over the failed interactions of last night, and suddenly, I had a weapon in my hands, and the bookshelf was in pieces, the mirror was shattered, the TV was destroyed, and my guitar lay on the floor, strings curling upward. Then I awakened from my fantasy, and everything was back in its place. Simply nothing goes my way.
I am wise beyond my years with the imagination of a young child, trapped in the obnoxiously hormonal position of a teenage girl.
I don't know what it is about my obsession with how I'm gonna look when I'm an old lady. The more I think about it, the more I can see it- I'd still have long hair, it would just be gray and stringy. I can picture being tall and slouchy, probably still generally skinny, and I'd be wrinkly. I'd strive to be one of those sweet old ladies that look like just nice people that are respectable and easy to talk to. That's what I want to be when I grow up. But in all honesty, I think I'm too odd to be one of those. Maybe I should strive to be insane instead.
I can picture myself as a mom really easily, too. I can see myself wanting girls but getting boys (at least for my first one) and then turning into a tougher, less spineless human being because of my dealings with them. Maybe I'd have a girl or two to talk to, and she won't be anything at all that I'd want her to be. She'd probably be really stubborn or mainstream or popular or feminine or social or something that I can't relate to at all. Maybe she'd be a tomboy and she's hate barbies and crush my soul, and she'd only have guy friends and she'd judge all the things I hold near and dear, like writing and music. Yeah. Maybe boys are better.
It's just so weird that I'm completely oblivious to the people in my life in just a few years. All I can do right now is daydream about them. I mean, I could be responsible for a whole new life, thus creating a whole new family unit. It would be so wonderful... That's what I want to do with my life one day. If I can't be good at anything else, this is one thing I would want to master.
I don't really often let myself loose and just be sad about things. I'll just lie to myself and say everything's fine, and I'll remain naive and neutral about my daily routine. I don't really often cry, and I do it even less often around people.
I do that a lot, huh? I find something new and revolutionize it, like "Yes. This is the pen I'll be using from now on." I do that for everything, every concept. I never think realistically that I'll only be using it for now. It's because I never live in the now. I make too much a fuss over everything. I get my hopes too high.
Everyone my age thinks that they're older than they actually are.
Once the bell rang, I bounced from my chair, grabbing my backpack. I was reentering the chaos of the hallways, preparing myself for all the obnoxious crowd adrenaline that comes with it. There's something kind of bitterly beautiful about stepping into a crowd like that. When you remain quiet and you slip through the obstacles, trying not to get in anyone's way. You watch people talk, take note of the couples kissing and holding hands. They're all paired off quite nicely. There's a beautiful melancholy I've gotten used to after seeing it so many times.
Everyone I know doesn't know me.
Ever since I was little, I was deep in thought. I was constantly imagining things, daydreaming and romanticizing concepts that have never really been a reality for me yet.
I'm the kind of pretty that you see in pictures of someone's great grandmother when they were young. They're not perfectly stunning, but they look kind of feminine and better in comparison to their old and unsightly selves, so you feel compelled to comment on it by saying, "Oh, she's so pretty!" but you know that if you placed them next to another average looking girl, they wouldn't look that great. It's all perspective. When I'm next to really grotesque looking people, I'm kind of a pleasant surprise. But that's really all I am.
I have my grandma's smile. I don't remember much about her, but I remember her smile, and I'm always reminded of it whenever I look at the mirror. It's just when I smile with my mouth closed, though- that's when we smile the same. It's the thin, meek lips. I always preferred smiling that way, and it makes me look at myself and see all the people that made Amelia possible.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Being an INFP
Recently, a friend on Facebook shared a link to a website with the Myers Briggs personality test, (http://www.16personalities.com/free-personality-test) and being one who has always adored personality tests, I went "Heck, why not?" and took it. There were 60 questions that I answered patiently, and my result at the end were four letters: INFP. Of course, this being my first encounter with a Myers Briggs test, I had no idea what they meant, but I then proceeded to click on another link that provided me whole articles elaborating on the kind of person I was, and it was the most disturbingly accurate page I had ever read. It was like the makers of that website had been spying on me my whole life and they had been taking intricate notes, only to display for the whole internet to see. Apparently, though, as I came to realize with some more research, I'm not the only person like me. According to the Myers Briggs test, there are only 16 personality types that humans can potentially have, and everyone has them as their foundation for who they are- everything else are just minor differences. Everything I read in the article felt 100% true except for the portions that talked about caring for people more than for myself (it's rather unfortunate that I don't, but I care for myself very little, and I care for others as more of an afterthought because of it) and that INFP's don't have a tendency to get jealous. That's one of my hugest faults: jealousy. Every other detail, though, felt like reading pages of my diary.
Because of the eery accuracy of this test, I had become obsessed, and just flat out fascinated by what the results could mean for my development as a human being. See, I'm only 16, and I'll be 17 in less than a month, (I am sixteen, going on seventeen...) so I really do have a whole lot of life ahead of me. If I learn all this about me now, I'll be a total expert by the time I'm older. Well, at least I won't be clueless. For some reason I was always passionately interested in learning more about myself and learning about others. This passion had driven me to push almost everyone I know into taking the test also, and the results were just as mind-bogglingly spot-on.
I told my sister to take it first, because I had just taken it and I was driven with excitement, and she was right in the other room. I sat there patiently on my bed as she sat there, slouched in front of my laptop, clicking away answering questions. I twiddled my thumbs. I just had to know what she got. Sure enough, she was INFJ. She was the same as me, only she wasn't Prospecting, she was Judging. When I first looked into what the letters stood for, I assumed that they meant "judging" the way you would mean it in any other sentence, but actually, they mean "judging" more as someone who has a love of guidelines, routine, and sees deadlines "as sacred". "Prospecting" on the other hand, means more of someone who prefers things to be loosey-goosey, casual, and to get things done on the fly as opposed to doing it after careful planning. After coming to realize this, I had a big mental "Ohhhhhhh!" That was totally me. I hate deadlines, and I never do anything with careful planning. Like, ever. But evidently, my sister does. She was just like me: Introverted, INtuitive and Feeling. The only difference was that she was "judging." I found out later that my mom got exactly the same thing. That made sense. No wonder they get along so well.
My dad took the test with me that same night. He had heard about the test and saw that I was an INFP, so out of curiosity, he took the test. Only he didn't sit at my desk. He sat on my bed and asked me to read them off to him. "Dad, there are 60 questions..." "I know, just read them to me!" So I did. It was actually pretty fun hearing some of his answers. "'You cannot stand chaos.'" I stated. He had to tell me yes or no on a scale between completely agree and completely disagree. "Completely disagree." I laughed out loud. "I bet for you it would be completely on the other side, huh?" he asked with a laugh. "Yeah!" I said. It was true. I cannot STAND chaos.
In the end, though, he got ENFP, which was exactly like me, only he was extroverted. It really made sense. I read the results out loud, watching his reactions. He seemed to agree, and for most of it, so did I. The great part, though, was in the relationship sections that discusses what kind of person ENFP's are in romantic relationships: for an ideal partner, one of the personality types was INFJ, which is what my mom is. My dad sprung up from the bed in excitement to the other room, rejoicing over the sheer perfection of how everything worked out. I chuckled. This was all so fascinating.
With all this in mind, I had come to realize that this kind of thing all somewhat runs in the family. Some of it is what you're raised with, but it's got to be genetic, too, because I have a perfect combination of both my mom and my dad. My sister, on the other hand, is just a carbon copy of my mom, which is more or less true. All this was buzzing around in my head, so I had to send the test to all of my friends.
Of those that actually did take it, my friend from school Natalie got ENFJ, which is so her. I read the description, and it all added up. When she emailed me her results, her words were (and I quote) "Omg Amelia! I'm a ENFJ which apparently is compatible with your INFP! Lol!! ;D" I looked it up; it was true. No wonder we got along so well... Haha!
My best friend Courtney (the one I had written about in "Songs That Link to Beautiful Memories #1 and #2" just recently took the test and scored as an INTP, which was also the same as me, only she Thinks more than she Feels. I read the article urgently, and it actually shocked me a bit. Before she had taken the test, I had suspected that she was be an INFJ, too, because it mentions things about having a desire to do charity work and having strong opinions, which sounded to me like her, but in this article, it identified her to Albert Einstein. It was really impressive, but even to her best friend, it seemed out of character. I had no idea that she had such a scientific mind; our discussions had always been on the touchy-feely side. They were always philosophical, mind you; we don't really like to just small talk. We dig deeper than that. But not once has she ever come across to me as someone with a mind for science. I mean, she has more of a mind for it than me, for sure, seeing as though she's actually passed her science classes while I was daydreaming and barely passing with a D, but honestly, she's much more artistic than that. It mentions here and there that INTP's have a great ability to express themselves creatively, but as far as occupations go, they said they'd be more comfortable in a scientific field. Maybe I'm wrong, but that was NEVER the Courtney I know and love. But maybe there are more layers to her that I'm completely unaware of.
There were tons of celebrities they presented on the website that had supposedly the same personality as you, so naturally, I took a look at them. Some examples for INFP were Johnny Depp, William Shakespeare and Julia Roberts. But with some more research, I stumbled upon http://www.celebritytypes.com/, which showed me that all sorts of awesome people are the same type as me: John Lennon, Audrey Hepburn, Kurt Cobain, Edgar Allen Poe, Virginia Woolf, Thom Yorke, Jim Morrison, Tim Burton, and Vincent Van Gogh, to just name a few. Looking at all these people, I couldn't help but rejoice and praise the lord that I'm not alone. "I knew it!! I'm not a total weirdo!!" I shouted to the heavens. But then again, there's no escaping that one. I'm just born to be an outsider. It's written in my personality type.
I told my sister to take it first, because I had just taken it and I was driven with excitement, and she was right in the other room. I sat there patiently on my bed as she sat there, slouched in front of my laptop, clicking away answering questions. I twiddled my thumbs. I just had to know what she got. Sure enough, she was INFJ. She was the same as me, only she wasn't Prospecting, she was Judging. When I first looked into what the letters stood for, I assumed that they meant "judging" the way you would mean it in any other sentence, but actually, they mean "judging" more as someone who has a love of guidelines, routine, and sees deadlines "as sacred". "Prospecting" on the other hand, means more of someone who prefers things to be loosey-goosey, casual, and to get things done on the fly as opposed to doing it after careful planning. After coming to realize this, I had a big mental "Ohhhhhhh!" That was totally me. I hate deadlines, and I never do anything with careful planning. Like, ever. But evidently, my sister does. She was just like me: Introverted, INtuitive and Feeling. The only difference was that she was "judging." I found out later that my mom got exactly the same thing. That made sense. No wonder they get along so well.
My dad took the test with me that same night. He had heard about the test and saw that I was an INFP, so out of curiosity, he took the test. Only he didn't sit at my desk. He sat on my bed and asked me to read them off to him. "Dad, there are 60 questions..." "I know, just read them to me!" So I did. It was actually pretty fun hearing some of his answers. "'You cannot stand chaos.'" I stated. He had to tell me yes or no on a scale between completely agree and completely disagree. "Completely disagree." I laughed out loud. "I bet for you it would be completely on the other side, huh?" he asked with a laugh. "Yeah!" I said. It was true. I cannot STAND chaos.
In the end, though, he got ENFP, which was exactly like me, only he was extroverted. It really made sense. I read the results out loud, watching his reactions. He seemed to agree, and for most of it, so did I. The great part, though, was in the relationship sections that discusses what kind of person ENFP's are in romantic relationships: for an ideal partner, one of the personality types was INFJ, which is what my mom is. My dad sprung up from the bed in excitement to the other room, rejoicing over the sheer perfection of how everything worked out. I chuckled. This was all so fascinating.
With all this in mind, I had come to realize that this kind of thing all somewhat runs in the family. Some of it is what you're raised with, but it's got to be genetic, too, because I have a perfect combination of both my mom and my dad. My sister, on the other hand, is just a carbon copy of my mom, which is more or less true. All this was buzzing around in my head, so I had to send the test to all of my friends.
Of those that actually did take it, my friend from school Natalie got ENFJ, which is so her. I read the description, and it all added up. When she emailed me her results, her words were (and I quote) "Omg Amelia! I'm a ENFJ which apparently is compatible with your INFP! Lol!! ;D" I looked it up; it was true. No wonder we got along so well... Haha!
My best friend Courtney (the one I had written about in "Songs That Link to Beautiful Memories #1 and #2" just recently took the test and scored as an INTP, which was also the same as me, only she Thinks more than she Feels. I read the article urgently, and it actually shocked me a bit. Before she had taken the test, I had suspected that she was be an INFJ, too, because it mentions things about having a desire to do charity work and having strong opinions, which sounded to me like her, but in this article, it identified her to Albert Einstein. It was really impressive, but even to her best friend, it seemed out of character. I had no idea that she had such a scientific mind; our discussions had always been on the touchy-feely side. They were always philosophical, mind you; we don't really like to just small talk. We dig deeper than that. But not once has she ever come across to me as someone with a mind for science. I mean, she has more of a mind for it than me, for sure, seeing as though she's actually passed her science classes while I was daydreaming and barely passing with a D, but honestly, she's much more artistic than that. It mentions here and there that INTP's have a great ability to express themselves creatively, but as far as occupations go, they said they'd be more comfortable in a scientific field. Maybe I'm wrong, but that was NEVER the Courtney I know and love. But maybe there are more layers to her that I'm completely unaware of.
There were tons of celebrities they presented on the website that had supposedly the same personality as you, so naturally, I took a look at them. Some examples for INFP were Johnny Depp, William Shakespeare and Julia Roberts. But with some more research, I stumbled upon http://www.celebritytypes.com/, which showed me that all sorts of awesome people are the same type as me: John Lennon, Audrey Hepburn, Kurt Cobain, Edgar Allen Poe, Virginia Woolf, Thom Yorke, Jim Morrison, Tim Burton, and Vincent Van Gogh, to just name a few. Looking at all these people, I couldn't help but rejoice and praise the lord that I'm not alone. "I knew it!! I'm not a total weirdo!!" I shouted to the heavens. But then again, there's no escaping that one. I'm just born to be an outsider. It's written in my personality type.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Songs That Link to Beautiful Memories #2
Hot
Fuss by the Killers
I
think this CD reflects every sleepover Courtney and I had since the
summer after 5th
grade. It started when we got the amazing video game Rock Band, and
Courtney and Ethan would come over nearly every day because Marcie
worked for my dad in the workshop. They were the days where we would
play Barbies, complain about Ethan or play Rock Band. One day when we
were playing Rock Band, we discovered “When You Were Young” by
The Killers. I knew I heard that song, before, and I realized I loved
it. My dad already knew about The Killers and bought some of their
CD’s, like Hot Fuss, which had been burned onto other CD’s and
imported onto the computer like crazy. I also heard about the song
“All These Things That I’ve Done,” but I only knew the part
that went “…I got soul, but I’m not a soldier…” It was on
the radio one time when I was coming home from the eye doctor, and my
dad turned it up and knew all the words. I thought it was catchy,
even though I didn’t really know what it meant. Since the feelings
I felt in listening to “When You Were Young,” though, I had to
learn more.
My
passion for The Killers had gotten way more passionate, and I somehow
got a hold of one of the Hot Fuss copies my dad owned. Once I got
obsessed with it, Courtney did, too, and we were both listening to
the CD nonstop. At sleepovers, we’d always play the same songs over
and over again. In retrospect, lots of songs on the CD It didn’t
like, like “Andy You’re a Star” and “Jenny Was a Friend of
Mine,” and the first song on the CD that I can never remember the
title of. But one thing was for sure: I LOVED the songs “Mr.
Brightside,” “All These Things That I’ve Done,” “Smile Like
You Mean It,” “When You Were Young,” and eventually I liked
“Read Your Mind,” “Glamorous Indie Rock and Roll” and
“Human.” So, Courtney and I were both official Killers fans, and
we would listen to Hot Fuss over and over again, even if there were
lots of songs on the CD we didn’t really like. Still, though, it was one of the first bands I had decidedly started liking all by myself, and I was being supported by my best friend.
The passion continued onto to just earlier this year when I saw them live in concert in San Francisco. It was one of the most thrilling and most eventful experiences of my life, and I'm SO glad I did it. I was always so embarrassed telling people that the only concerts I went to were to see Clay Aiken with my mom and American Idol the year that Scotty McCreery won. I don't even like either of them, which is why I was so pained to have only those two concerts define my outlook on live music. My musical tastes goes all over the grid, but I could never be open to Clay Aiken, for some reason, even though my mom had been such a devoted fan for years. I like classic rock mainly, but The Killers is the band that opened the door to the world of alternative music, and I was digging it.
At the end of the concert, they shot down confetti while playing "When You Were Young," one of my all time favorite songs of theirs. In the mix was a red "K" that stood for "Killers," and a lightning bolt that represented their new album "Battle Born." (It's a pretty good album, but personally, I like Hot Fuss better) I decided to pick them up as souvenirs and hang them on my wall. Some memories deserve to be hung up.
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