I have a lot of friends who are really into personality typing. I came to CMU thinking I was an ENTJ, since every letter seemed to fit on its own. I am extroverted to some extent, an intuitive thinker, logical, and very much about getting done what I set out to do. Over the past year and a half I've been pegged with at least five different labels, none of which I've fully understood. Recently, though, a couple of my best friends independently decided I'm actually an INFJ, with ample explanation (1,2,3) to back up their claims.
I'm actually inclined to believe them now, because I have noticed a lot of those characteristics showing up this semester. I say this semester because I've been putting myself way more outside my comfort zone than I ever have before. Being a TA, running the Women@SCS sisters program, and hosting the CISCO-sponsored Halloween party have required that I create a presence for myself and really own it. The process of constant self-critiquing has led me to really look at what I do and how much success I meet with when acting a particular way. I suppose that behavior, in and of itself, implies this type, which makes me even more comfortable with the label.
Before fully discrediting my acceptance of a label with "but you can't just put people in buckets!" let me point out that these types do not bind anyone to a set of mannerisms. What it does is suggest a pattern of behaviors which people may follow to varying extents. There are sixteen different labels, and each one of them is a continuous spectrum of matching. Continuous means uncountably infinite. There's more than enough room for all of us according to that system.
One thing I've noticed is that there's always a song or set of songs that perfectly capture my emotions at various points in my life. Finding the right song is like being able to pack the current state of the universe into a little box that I can pull out whenever I want to return to it. Some songs will appeal to me aesthetically, having elements that hint at a certain state of mind. Camille's live version of La Demeure d'un Ciel never ceases to call back the floaty feeling of freshman fall, of being simultaneously in and out of my element, of knowing that I was at the beginning of a potentially chaotic journey, of being okay with being in limbo. Car ici désormais est la demeure d'un ciel... By contrast, some of the songs that grab me are ones that I associate with a particular moment in time. I hear Extremo's rendition of Merseburger Zaubersprüche and suddenly I am in the car with John, listening to him sing along, my heart pounding. After everything that happened, the song can still bring back that excitement. Music has become my escapist drug of choice, and it's a hell of a trip.
It's more than just a trip, though. I'll often feel something that I can't quite put words to, and suddenly I'll find a song that does just that. Evanescence's Going Under is actually just me telling John what months of being put down and manipulated felt like. Together, Marina and the Diamonds' Mowgli's Road and Oh No! capture my waffling between being sure and confident versus helpless and terrified this past spring as I entered a new and insanely trying phase of my time here, being single and in over my head in classes, with some serious impostor syndrome to boot. From summer to now, Imogen Heap has pretty much been able to think for me, with 2-1, Canvas, The Walk, and Half Life embodying the set of conversations, both real and hypothetical, I was and have been having with myself and with others.
I've been wondering lately whether the music is doing me more harm than good. It's nice to know that someone else can say what I'm thinking, to know that I'm not alone. The problem, however, is that I don't know for sure that I do feel all of those things. It's not that I expect to relate to every line of a song, since many of them are coming straight from the artist's experiences. But for those that do resonate, how closely do I actually relate? A compelling orator can stir anyone to action; similarly, a talented artist can move his or her audience to feel. I have a strong external feeling function. I am especially sensitive to the feelings of others. When those feelings are similar to my own, what does it mean for me? Are my feelings amplified? Overpowered? Usurped? I don't know. I just want to know if my emotions are my own.
I'd like to think that I have the power to feel, independent of those around me. In the fast-paced, high-stress environment that is CMU, where I need my music to get me through the day, I just can't know for sure. Maybe that's why I prefer more non-English music lately. It's time away from me feeling what the artist is explicitly telling me to think, allowing me to be more creative with my interpretation of a piece of music. I can't understand it, so I can feel what I want without the words telling me. I think. Then again, there's just something about 'Ille Dhuinn, 'S Toigh Leam Thu that really gets me. Maybe I shouldn't have read the translation.
Image from DaveSuperPowers - T is thinking, S is Sensing
I'm actually inclined to believe them now, because I have noticed a lot of those characteristics showing up this semester. I say this semester because I've been putting myself way more outside my comfort zone than I ever have before. Being a TA, running the Women@SCS sisters program, and hosting the CISCO-sponsored Halloween party have required that I create a presence for myself and really own it. The process of constant self-critiquing has led me to really look at what I do and how much success I meet with when acting a particular way. I suppose that behavior, in and of itself, implies this type, which makes me even more comfortable with the label.
Before fully discrediting my acceptance of a label with "but you can't just put people in buckets!" let me point out that these types do not bind anyone to a set of mannerisms. What it does is suggest a pattern of behaviors which people may follow to varying extents. There are sixteen different labels, and each one of them is a continuous spectrum of matching. Continuous means uncountably infinite. There's more than enough room for all of us according to that system.
One thing I've noticed is that there's always a song or set of songs that perfectly capture my emotions at various points in my life. Finding the right song is like being able to pack the current state of the universe into a little box that I can pull out whenever I want to return to it. Some songs will appeal to me aesthetically, having elements that hint at a certain state of mind. Camille's live version of La Demeure d'un Ciel never ceases to call back the floaty feeling of freshman fall, of being simultaneously in and out of my element, of knowing that I was at the beginning of a potentially chaotic journey, of being okay with being in limbo. Car ici désormais est la demeure d'un ciel... By contrast, some of the songs that grab me are ones that I associate with a particular moment in time. I hear Extremo's rendition of Merseburger Zaubersprüche and suddenly I am in the car with John, listening to him sing along, my heart pounding. After everything that happened, the song can still bring back that excitement. Music has become my escapist drug of choice, and it's a hell of a trip.
It's more than just a trip, though. I'll often feel something that I can't quite put words to, and suddenly I'll find a song that does just that. Evanescence's Going Under is actually just me telling John what months of being put down and manipulated felt like. Together, Marina and the Diamonds' Mowgli's Road and Oh No! capture my waffling between being sure and confident versus helpless and terrified this past spring as I entered a new and insanely trying phase of my time here, being single and in over my head in classes, with some serious impostor syndrome to boot. From summer to now, Imogen Heap has pretty much been able to think for me, with 2-1, Canvas, The Walk, and Half Life embodying the set of conversations, both real and hypothetical, I was and have been having with myself and with others.
I've been wondering lately whether the music is doing me more harm than good. It's nice to know that someone else can say what I'm thinking, to know that I'm not alone. The problem, however, is that I don't know for sure that I do feel all of those things. It's not that I expect to relate to every line of a song, since many of them are coming straight from the artist's experiences. But for those that do resonate, how closely do I actually relate? A compelling orator can stir anyone to action; similarly, a talented artist can move his or her audience to feel. I have a strong external feeling function. I am especially sensitive to the feelings of others. When those feelings are similar to my own, what does it mean for me? Are my feelings amplified? Overpowered? Usurped? I don't know. I just want to know if my emotions are my own.
I'd like to think that I have the power to feel, independent of those around me. In the fast-paced, high-stress environment that is CMU, where I need my music to get me through the day, I just can't know for sure. Maybe that's why I prefer more non-English music lately. It's time away from me feeling what the artist is explicitly telling me to think, allowing me to be more creative with my interpretation of a piece of music. I can't understand it, so I can feel what I want without the words telling me. I think. Then again, there's just something about 'Ille Dhuinn, 'S Toigh Leam Thu that really gets me. Maybe I shouldn't have read the translation.
