I just can’t with me sometimes. I’m so tired of being an Idealist. I am tired of constantly living in the story that INFJs tell themselves, that the world will be utopia if we just do x and y to climb toward z. We all do it. We all take on the pain of the world and analyze it until we understand. My trauma reflexes make me nitpick and I often don’t realize I’m doing it. I’m sure it makes me, too, sound like a hardass. I’m just the type person that will hug and kiss you while saying “I know you’re a mess. Let’s get you back together.”
I will only do that for the people I love the most, because that’s how much energy I can dedicate to staying with someone until the process is complete. I’ve always thought I would be an excellent executive assistant for that reason… dedicated to helping one person succeed and hopefully becoming so focused that it’s not possible for that energy to leak toward everyone in the room; I feel their pain even when I’m supposed to be partying. I have a glass of wine and the feeling intensifies, which is probably why I only have one drinking buddy. Therefore, we’re sitting and talking to each other and my energy is only on him. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at a party, engrossed in a conversation, and solving a marital problem in my head. It wasn’t mine. It was across the room.
I joke about only supporting gay marriage if both chicks are hot, but I swear, some days………
It’s not that I hate myself all the time. It’s that I hate not being able to see what’s in front of me. I am an Idealist with no self-regulatory mechanisms. I can tell within a handshake or two whether I want to have your babies. Doesn’t mean it’ll happen. I can just see it.
What I can’t do is simply focus on shaking your hand. The pictures start flying across my mind within a few minutes of talking. Generally, I know whether I love people within a day or so, and it’s not meant to be frightening to hear it. More like Philia/Eros. Context matters, but it’s not generally up to me as to which one it will be, neither is it quantifiable or binary. It is a feeling that encompasses so much, and we will choose our own adventure. Lust is felt in a hot second. Love takes time to figure itself out, because it is a hard working verb. Everything from “here’s where it’s safe to leave a mark” to “of course I’ll pick you up at Dulles.” I would venture to say that the latter means more, because no one wants to pick up anyone at Dulles.
I am intimidated that as an Idealist, with a framework in place, I can see everything from here to the airport within a very short period of time. I’ll tell you where I’m going and invite you, but if I’ve made the effort to assure you that you are safe and loved, then don’t be surprised if I am unhappy you’re no longer with us. I hate it when anyone separates from the company. I’m just not very good at it. I’m like The Doctor when he’s traveled alone too long. I’m just Twelve all the time and wish I was Eleven.
It would not be unlike me to have a companion called a carer because they care so I don’t have to.
In fact, it would be great to be able to delegate. I can to a certain extent because my sister doesn’t build futures the way I do, but she does understand people and often brings me back down to earth. I know I say things that are too deep too early, and part of it is natural. Part of it is that after I’ve said it, it’s a “separating the men from the boys” exercise. If you can’t tell me what you’re feeling or you run from large emotions, duly noted. That’s the kind of stuff that really makes me feel unloved and I won’t stand for it, especially since I will absolutely pour my everything into helping you succeed, because it’s filling my own purpose in life.
Sometimes I wish I had a secretary that would warn me when “that pretty lady is causing all kinds of hell,” even when it’s me.
I think it would help me to stay on track, not get lost in the world I’m building instead of navigating the one where I live. I think the phrase I’ve heard more in my life than any other is “God, Leslie. Chill.” I don’t have much chill. I am Leslieserious about everything until someone reminds me to not.
I look up and realize I’ve been lost in the story I’m telling myself. Maybe it’s time for more sleep. Maybe it’s time for a beer and a chat with friends at a pub. Maybe it’s turning off the news and not reading so many biographies.
I am certain I would be more lovable that way, more appealing to other people. I am just uncertain that I would love me through it.
Stories That Are All True 