On Having a Usual

Working the Mosaic coffee bar, I pride myself in knowing regulars by their drink choice. I may have virtually no idea what their names are, but I do know their drink. (Mr. Toffee-Nut Latte, I'm talking to you) I love winning the race to get their usual drink started before they even ask for it.

And people - whether they admit it - want to be known, to have their needs anticipated. We cloak it, calling it "great customer service", but I think it goes far deeper to a soul-level need. Why else would I be exhausted after a week at a conference, talking endlessly with people I barely know (and who don't know me)? I just wanted someone to talk to, to whom I didn't have to explain everything first.

As I was saying.

On the other hand, I virtually never order the same drink twice. I have plenty of Favorites, but not a Usual. I'm always trying new flavor combinations. Which you could probably write off as the part of my personality/career that favors experimentation and sensory evaluation. But I'm often looking for a new favorite. Same with restaurants - there's only one restaurant where I always order the exact same thing every time.(1) Otherwise, I jump around menus like the cast of Fame. And it's not just with food and drink - I'm on the search for my next favorite for a lot of things. That could sound like I'm perpetually dissatisfied, but I don't think that's true. Maybe it's an acknowledgment of the variety of experiences waiting to be discovered. Life's pretty short, after all. I don't purport that all of my favorite things are the absolute best (okay, okay, I said all - anyone who knows me longer than twenty seconds knows how I evangelize my favorites...), and I'm generally willing to accept that there is more that is Good out there.

Likewise, a friend once told me that she always wears the same perfume so that whenever someone smells her signature scent, they will be reminded of her. The romantic in me really loves that idea, but I find I can't commit to just one fragrance for that long. I usually work through a bottle of perfume in a year, maybe two.(2) Then I'm happy to switch to something new. As a result, my fragrances are highly associative with specific time periods - ck one invariably evokes memories of sophomore year of college, for example. I don't necessarily get tired of a fragrance by the time I get to the end of the bottle, but I sure do look forward to the adventure of finding the next. The process of discovery, of the hunt, of the selection.(3)

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1 Beef Tostadas, everything but sour cream; Mr. Pibb with extra ice.

2 Currently it's Ferragamo Incanto Shine. Previously, it was Aquolina Pink Sugar. And prior to that, it was Trish McEvoy #9 (Blackberry and Vanilla Musk)

3 This may also explain my patience for thrift-store shopping.

Typecast

I have long been interested in personality types - particularly Myers-Briggs - ever since I was first "typed" at a cheesy leadership conference my freshman year of college.  Having never had a psychology course, I was amazed by the information, insight into why I do things the way I do them, and why I think the way I think.  [Sure, I'm not one for taxonomy and labels, and I realize these things can be abused, but it sure is a handy springboard for understanding people and how to relate to them - inclusive of one's own self.  And, sometimes labels do help make sense of that which is highly abstract, scattered, and complex.]  Of course, it was well-timed - the kick-off to the awakening to self that everyone seems to undergo as they move away from their parents and begin to discover who they really are.  Reading through the description of my "type" for the first time, I was floored by the statements that so clearly articulated what I knew to be true about myself.  I had always been introspective, but here I had psychologists pinpointing exactly what I couldn't gather together on my own.  It's hard not to fall in love with something (or someone) who helps you understand yourself - so I've always been fascinated by research into personality traits.

I have been helping someone figure out what they want to do with their life, and this seemed like a natural place to start.  First, to get to know this person a little better, and second, to help narrow down an infinite spectrum of possibilities.  Without doing a formal evaluation, this person appears to fall into the same type as me.  Which is kind of funny.   Reading through information on personality type for the first time in a while, I started playing the game in which I predict my friends' types.  I think I have an obvious ISTJ in my midst, and a clear INTP.  The rest are surprisingly tough to call.

Anyhow, in the interest of full disclosure, I trend towards INFJ, though I sometimes exhibit tendencies of ENFJ, and often toe the line of ISFJ.  All of these support that teaching just feels natural to me.  I spent several years as a research scientist, and in that work I was happily able to reconcile my love of science with my affinity for aesthetics and intuition (what other science but weather can best use one's intuition!), it just wasn't a natural fit, not like teaching is.   I've been turning over some ideas lately: the option of getting  back into pure science, or perhaps furthering my own education - and if so, opting for pure science or science education?  So maybe this rediscovery, the confrontation with my own personality, will end up being just as useful for me as for the person I'm advising.

Resonant Traits  (From www.personalitypage.com)

I know that, like a horoscope, one can read descriptions of any personality type and think "wow, that's SO me!", but these seem a lot more specific than Gemini, Virgo, the Year of the Dragon.  So, here, I will offer up the descriptors that seem to blink in neon on the pages for me.

INFJ

Artistic and creative, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities.

They put a lot of energy into identifying the best system for getting things done, and constantly define and re-define the priorities in their lives. On the other hand, INFJs operate within themselves on an intuitive basis which is entirely spontaneous. They know things intuitively, without being able to pinpoint why, and without detailed knowledge of the subject at hand. 

INFJs have uncanny insight into people and situations. They get "feelings" about things and intuitively understand them. 

the INFJ themself does not really understand their intuition at a level which can be verbalized. Consequently, most INFJs are protective of their inner selves, sharing only what they choose to share when they choose to share it. They are deep, complex individuals, who are quite private and typically difficult to understand. INFJs hold back part of themselves, and can be secretive.

INFJs are concerned for people's feelings, and try to be gentle to avoid hurting anyone. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. 

They believe in constant growth, and don't often take time to revel in their accomplishments. They have strong value systems, and need to live their lives in accordance with what they feel is right. 

they have very high expectations of themselves, and frequently of their families. 

They have high expectations of their children, and push them to be the best that they can be. 

They have a natural affinity for art, and many excel in the sciences, where they make use of their intuition. INFJs can also be found in service-oriented professions. 

ENFJ

ENFJ's tend to be more reserved about exposing themselves than other extraverted types. Although they may have strongly-felt beliefs, they're likely to refrain from expressing them if doing so would interfere with bringing out the best in others. Because their strongest interest lies in being a catalyst of change in other people, they're likely to interact with others on their own level, in a chameleon-like manner, rather than as individuals.

They enjoy being the center of attention, and do very well in situations where they can inspire and lead others, such as teaching.

ENFJs do not like dealing with impersonal reasoning. They don't understand or appreciate its merit, and will be unhappy in situations where they're forced to deal with logic and facts without any connection to a human element. Living in the world of people possibilities, they enjoy their plans more than their achievements. They get excited about possibilities for the future, but may become easily bored and restless with the present.

ENFJs have a strong need for close, intimate relationships, and will put forth a lot of effort in creating and maintaining these relationships. They're very loyal and trustworthy once involved in a relationship.

An ENFJ who has not found their place in the world is likely to be extremely sensitive to criticism, and to have the tendency to worry excessively and feel guilty. 

ISFJ

The ISFJ feels a strong sense of responsibility and duty. They take their responsibilities very seriously, and can be counted on to follow through. For this reason, people naturally tend to rely on them. The ISFJ has a difficult time saying "no" when asked to do something, and may become over-burdened. In such cases, the ISFJ does not usually express their difficulties to others, because they intensely dislike conflict, and because they tend to place other people's needs over their own. The ISFJ needs to learn to identify, value, and express their own needs, if they wish to avoid becoming over-worked and taken for granted.

ISFJs need positive feedback from others. In the absence of positive feedback, or in the face of criticism, the ISFJ gets discouraged

They are truly warm and kind-hearted, and want to believe the best of people. They value harmony and cooperation, and are likely to be very sensitive to other people's feelings. People value the ISFJ for their consideration and awareness, and their ability to bring out the best in others by their firm desire to believe the best.

ISFJs have a rich inner world that is not usually obvious to observers. They constantly take in information about people and situations that is personally important to them, and store it away. This tremendous store of information is usually startlingly accurate, because the ISFJ has an exceptional memory about things that are important to their value systems. 

ISFJs have a very clear idea of the way things should be, which they strive to attain. They value security and kindness, and respect traditions and laws. They tend to believe that existing systems are there because they work. Therefore, they're not likely to buy into doing things in a new way, unless they're shown in a concrete way why its better than the established method.

The ISFJ has an extremely well-developed sense of space, function, and aesthetic appeal. For that reason, they're likely to have beautifully furnished, functional homes. They make extremely good interior decorators. This special ability, combined with their sensitivity to other's feelings and desires, makes them very likely to be great gift-givers - finding the right gift which will be truly appreciated by the recipient.

On Keeping a Notebook

Yesterday, a friend mentioned a student of his who once began writing in a notebook - specifically, writing everything that needed to be said that day in the event he didn't have another.  At first, that sounds noble and smart, however, it also seems fatally overwhelming.  I try to do that while on travel - to record everything that I saw or that happened (plus my reaction) in my travel journals.  But it takes me hours every night to record the day's adventures.  Usually I reach critical mass after about five days, and I start leaving big gaps when I save the writing for the next day... and for the next...  I tried to stave this off on my last trip by at least making short notes on the days I didn't feel like writing full entries, so I wouldn't later forget what to write.  I had the intention of synthesizing my quick notes into longer writings, but here I am, four months later, with just a random collection of notes.  And this isn't limited to my travel journals.  I have loads of notebooks and envelopes and glove compartments full of scribblings and cryptic notes, filed away for later development.  But I rarely revisit them.  And when I do, it's never to write them into something more formal; it's more like visiting a museum of me, in which there are no pieces to display - all that's there are the curator's notes on the wall.

Why this drive to record all detail?  It's part of my personality, I suppose.  Like Didion, I want to remember what it was to be me at that time and place.  And I have this compulsion to record every detail - because without the context, the significance of a particular thought is sadly diminished.  I am decidedly unabridged.  I often give up telling stories because I can't adequately Cliffs-Notes it for others to easily digest.  For my audience to understand an event, I have to convey every minute detail and most of the back-story.  A six-sentence story for another person is a six-minute yarn for me.  

I leaf through these notebooks and rediscover these fragments of memory that had been lost to time.  Maybe I'm the only one who cares, in which case, why am I writing all this detail for myself to enjoy later?  Or, I'm making field notes in some experiment, and eventually, I will be able to see patterns and draw conclusions and will be glad to have a rich collection of data.  I want everyone to understand the complexity of a situation.  Apparently, this extends to my future self, with how I write in my notebook.  Presumably, my notes are only for me, but I still often feel like I write for an audience outside my head.  And here, on this blog, I have a faceless audience for whom I am writing - which perhaps provides the impetus to bring all those scrawled scraps of memory into some cohesive work.  But does someone else actually need to read it for it to have worth?  Would I have any internal motivation to collect notes into something coherent if I didn't have an audience?  Probably not.

Perhaps the volume of detail I feel compelled to record is to stave off the natural paring and preparation of information for long-term storage.  The brain distills things down into a small remnant of memory, and there's no predicting what that will be.  Zoe Heller, through a character in her novel Notes on a Scandal, says this of memory-crafting: 

I keep staring at things, willing myself to remember them: the faded blue dressing gown that Sheba is always leaving draped across the sofa; the antique Moroccan tiles in the kitchen; the velvet-clad hangers in the closets.  Of course, memory is not really as obedient a faculty as that.  You can't consciously decide what is going to adhere.  Certain things may strike you at the time as memorable, but memory only laughs at your presumption.  'Oh, I'm never going to forget this,' you say to yourself when you visit the Sacre-Coeur at sunset.  And years later, when you try to summon up an image of the Sacre-Coeur, it's as cold an abstract as if you'd only ever seen it on a postcard.  If anything unlocks the memory of this house for me, years from now, it will be something - some tiny, atmospheric fragment - of which I'm not even aware at the moment.  I know this, and yet I still persist in making my little inventory, trying to nail down my recollections.

I tend to remember overtones, not details.  My reaction to a situation, not the specifics of the situation itself.  How people say something, not the words they say.  How I feel about something, not the something.  This is also why I'm terrible at describing plots of stories or films - all I can remember is my overall impression, or what I was thinking at the time.

It's difficult enough to craft one's own memories; it has to be impossible to manufacture one's own legacy.  Sam Beam implores a longtime love to remember him in a very specific way.  I am fascinated by things that others remember.  Reminiscing about grad school with a friend last weekend, she recounted a story about the two of us to her son.  On my own, I never would have remembered the situation she described, but of course I knew it once she mentioned it.  It was neither good nor bad, but of all the possible memories of us, it's interesting that that particular incident is part of her inventory.  I am loathe to say I want to control what others think of me, but I will admit I want that impression to be accurate.  It bothers me greatly when people misinterpret me.  As in the song, can we really instruct someone to remember us in some way, or, for that matter, even maintain the same catalog of memories?  Should we even care that different curators organize the collection differently - the prized acquisitions in our own exhibits are relegated to an out-of-the-way room in someone else's.  I wonder whether others would be as surprised (as I am at theirs) at my memories of them, and what triggers them.  

I certainly want to be remembered fondly for specific events.  I certainly want to be remembered seldomly for the times when I was not the best version of myself.  I edit my own memories over and over, leaving a tight, streamlined work that pleases me.  Do others do the same?  I own several pair of rose-colored glasses - ever the idealist, I usually look back on things and see the good.  Even in a current situation, one in which I really want to see and remember the bad because I think it will make it easier to let go later, I am having a really difficult time doing so.  Almost as if the harder I try, the stronger the good shines; the rosier things crowd everything else out of view.

For someone who teaches a laboratory science, I sure have no clear need for objective accuracy.