I like to hold hands at the movies…which always seems to startle strangers.
Today is my birthday.
I am 30 years old, and though I’ve cringed and gawked my way through several existential crises since I was twelve years old, I am rather surprised to find that I’m not in the middle of one now.
Ten years ago, I tested as an INFP on the Myers-Briggs test thing.
(Yes, I’m using “test thing” in my ever-so-professional newsletter. I haven’t had coffee since this morning, GOOD GOD, MAN. HAVE SOME SYMPATHY.)
I was withdrawn, as most introverts tend to be. And I was very much of the belief that I was where I was meant to be in life, and would remain for the rest of my days. It wasn’t a scary feeling. But it wasn’t positive. I was extremely lukewarm. Eventually, I came to the place, mentally, where I was counting hours of every day, and counting days of the week. Counting down to “I wonder what the end is going to look like, because it can’t possibly be …this.”