Personalities and Crossroads

I feel restless, and that means it's time to write. I don't really have a set theme in mind, so let's see where I go:

I've been thinking a lot about personality typing the past few days. It began when I watched 9. The characters were pieces of a human soul. They all had different characteristics that warranted personality traits, so I tried to classify each to a different MBTI type. It didn't work for all characters, as most were not developed enough. (The movie really should have been longer with more character development.) All of this personality typing got me thinking about my own type, so I revisted the differences between INFJ and INFP. I'm just not an INFP any way I slice it. Even if I were more spontaneous, I'm still too definitive.

After I reasserted my own traits, I looked at Trent's again. I'm not dismissing the idea that he could be an ISFP. The only problem I see is with the Temperment Sorter description of SP's which holds that they are process-oriented, not goal-oriented. I'm aware that the book is full of extreme examples, but somehow it struck me oddly. (Perhaps it's my lack of understanding of SP motivation.) I definitely see Trent as an artist, but artists can operate in different ways. The traditional ISFP artist is all about the process, all about creating and appealing to the five senses in the moment. They communicate and reach outwards through their work, yet they have no goal. For them the motivation is simply to create, and the process is the reward. Their experiences are not preparation for later, but they experience intensely now. They "live on impulses." I'm having trouble understanding this completely, but only because I can't apply it to myself. What actually confuses me is trying to apply this SP template to what I see of Trent. Does he act this way? Is this his motivation? Is he really that impulsive?

Conversely, I've held the belief that he's an INFP. Quite different from an ISFP, I know, but only in the way information is gathered and processed. An INFP judges experiences against their inner values, and strives to live their outer life according to them. They usually have a greater goal in mind that they work towards such as bettering the world through what they do. Trent is quite outwardly, and unusually, gentle as an INFP is described. It is much easier for me to apply Trent to this model, but is it only because INFP is a visionary just like me or because it really does fit? Sadly, I may never know more of Trent's personality than what I have witnessed over the past year via his interviews, updates, and tweets. I hope that will change.
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The movie for New Moon is coming out in November. Yes, I read the Twilight Saga and enjoyed it. But no, I have no inclination to see the movies, although hearing others talk of them stirs up all my feelings for Bella, Edward, and Jacob. Their triangle keeps grabbing me because it could so easily be real. Not the particulars per se, but the feelings and circumstances. I still believe what I said about fictional love: We find part of our own love within it. The lovers carve another aspect of our emotions, and in turn they take on a part of our will. It doesn't matter if their flesh is real. Their love exists, if only in daydreams. --Love's Reality

Ultimately I come back what I do know, and that's my own past, choices that I've made, and what may yet happen. Lately I've tried to focus on those choices: what did I do and why? What choices may come up, and what do I plan to do? Inevitably a scenario plays out in my head several times, imagining dialogue and action, stopping, reversing, refocusing. What does it feel like when you reach a crossroad?

Questions

I find myself searching. Watching every story, every event both real and fiction for similarities to what I believe happened. Do others suspect? Do they dream? Do they remember? Are they subtly revealing these beliefs through their actions and tales? Why do I want to find them? To know I'm not alone? To feel a connection to others? Do I really want them to remember, or keep the knowledge hidden? What part will they play? What part will I play later? Why do I become so restless that I have to get all of it out of myself?

Oh! To gaze upon serenity again... It will signal our undoing:

Legions of them, listening to his voice. The look of serenity upon their pallid faces. How can they listen, so dumbfounded, so innocent? They will follow him to the end. They will follow him to the end.

When Insides are Out

fa·tal·ism
n.

1. The doctrine that all events are predetermined by fate and are therefore unalterable.
2. Acceptance of the belief that all events are predetermined and inevitable.

fa·tal·ist
n.

1. One who maintains that all things happen by inevitable necessity.
2. Anyone who submits to the belief that they are powerless to change their destiny.

That's not how I want to feel...

Every action scratches me. Downtrodden. Each sound is noise in my ears. My every thought seethes. Calm waters seem like shattering glass. Familiar words razors. I want to shut myself behind a door where no one else can go. It wells not from hate or paranoia, but from raw exposure. I awoke bruised and ripped. From what I know not, but I need to retreat and heal. Lest I damage myself more.

The whole of me sits upon my lap in plain view. I cannot protect it. I cannot hide it.

I feel brash, rude, and uncalled for.

I feel no need to apologize.

I feel useless.

That's not how I want to feel...

On Dreams

How can you see from the windows of dreams? All sense slips asunder, relegated to memories of order. Laws anew flourish and mutate. Scenarios ponder, worship, and cry. Parts are played by masters and slaves, though not as one would reason. Reason feels foreign upon a dream's fragile frames. Encounters unscripted. Worlds without end. Pens plumb subconscious depths to publish only a piece of what hides. Existence and persistence rules by curiosities and fears.

Dreams are borne of the night. Shadows of the sane. Residents of the reverse. A mockery of the mundane.

Musical Thoughts

When I can't possibly explain how I feel, undoubtedly there is a song that can express it. Life without music is an ocean without water. It moves me, supports me, drives me, drowns me.

Experiencing emotions vicariously through music... If you find meaning, is it still vicarious? Or have you simply found what was lost?

Unfocused Thoughts

After several factors surrounding my grandmother's funeral, I find myself in a different state of mind. I'd really like to stay in it to see what I can reflect on, but I'm sure it will shift.

Many have some opinion about the afterlife. I won't share mine here explicitly because I can't really explain it anyways. But, as more people I love pass away, I've come to trust that indeed I will see them again.

Life is a set of paths, chapters, spheres of influence, levels of conciousness, however you wish to think of it. The symbolism should be personal. No one views life in the same way.

I'm not sure what to focus on right now in my life. Not lost, just unclear...

Why write?

I agree that this is an outlet, but to what end? What do I hope to accomplish by writing in this blog that I'm feebly attempting to leave anonymous? Why write at all?

I went through the phase as a young teen of wanting to be a singer and songwriter. Since Mom had such a good voice, I assumed mine wasn't so bad (I could still use some training one day). My writing, however, was always quite sappy and cliche which was not uncommon for someone of my age and naivete. Writing about crushes, happiness, and dreams in such a blatant way certainly wasn't what I enjoyed listening to, so why in the world did it come out of my head? I had an $80 Casio that did well for the song portion of my songwriting hobby, but my previous short stint of piano lessons didn't leave me well-equipped for the job. In the end, the keyboard was a hobby in itself for playing tunes by ear until it was stolen several years later. The songs found their way to the trashcan because I couldn't bear to read them after I'd written them, and as for my voice... I enjoy singing to myself, but you couldn't pay me to do karaoke.

I've since realized some more optimal ways to approach tackling a large task such as the one above. I don't particularly enjoy being taught when I have high expectations for myself. Example: I was afraid to practice my French Horn at home because my mother and father both played instruments--I had an easier time locking myself in a store room at school to practice where no one heard me. I prefer to go at my own pace and self-teach until I'm up to par according to me and no one else. If others still think ill of my performance, then it's easier for me to accept constructive criticism because at least I had confidence in myself. Yes, it's a matter of self-esteem.

So, how do you self-teach writing? Fortunately, since my mother is a writer and former English teacher--tell me I'm not setting myself up for failure here--I have a very good background to work with already. Although similar to the French Horn experience, I won't be asking for her help any time soon. I could buy books, research online, imitate others...but I still have to be the one who's happy with it in the end. What good is a piece of writing with my name attached if it's not something I'm proud of?

I still haven't answered my starting questions of "why?" Well, why did I want to be a singer/songwriter? I knew how I felt when I listened to my favorite singers. They poured their hearts out and gave everything they had just to offer those that would listen something with meaning. They all did it in different ways, but I knew when a singer wasn't sincere. Those tapes and CD's were turned in for store credit. I wanted to inspire others that way. Hell, I still wanted to when I went to college. I thought I could get there by being a teacher, but I committed the same blunder by being too immature for the job at hand and going against my instincts (thanks, bureaucracy). Now I'm an A/R manager at a small business and I'm as happy as a lark. Why? Because I realized that it's not necessarily what you do, but how you do it. I view my job as a vessel, not the product. I could dig a ditch or direct a choir, but I'm still here to do what I need to do, and I'm going to do it.

So I want to use writing to inspire. I feel that I can view writing in a different light than I used to and use it as a vessel for change in myself and one day others. I'm still figuring out how a blog on the edge of nothing is going to accomplish that. I'm a perfectionist, so for now the plan is to keep writing until I'm happy with it.