I've just finished reading the first chapter of the third book in the Ender's Game series. I can't stop crying. It's seven pages about characters of whom I know nothing, and yet I can't stop crying. I even put the book down and went off to do other stuff, and I still can't stop crying. Why? Because in seven pages, I realized that the dream I've long since given up on is the ideal that makes marriage so perfect for so many people, and it's a happiness I am afraid I am doomed to live without. In seven pages, I saw a man's intellectual and philosophical dependence on his wife--a dependence that I have never been capable of relinquishing because I do not trust people to be correct. I do not trust people to not screw things up. But if I cannot trust the woman I love to be competent, then how can I completely love her? How could I ever truly depend on her? How could I ever commune with her at all? If I see most everyone as inferior to myself, if I see her as inferior to myself, then the only love I can ever experience is a small slice of the whole--an appetizer. It's a taste of what could be, and it only serves to whet my appetite for something more. The more I learn, I realize I've settled in the past. I've settled for less than I deserve. It's not about beauty or attractiveness. It's not about what she does for me or what I do for her. It's about whether it's even possible for one to understand what the other desires to convey. If this cannot be achieved in both directions, the relationship is doomed to failure for at least one will find this to be an unbearably lonely existence, where not even the person you share your life with can comprehend your desires, curiosities, whims, theories, confusions, joys, bursts of insight, or even the reasons for why you feel you are not understood.
If I ever do find this, I will fight to the death to keep it. In seven pages, we see this. If she were to ever die, there would surely be nothing left worth living for.
From last night's movie: "WITHOUT YOU, I'm as lonely as an abandoned dog on the side of a highway. ... I declare now that I will give my life to you, and if you fail to come to me, I know some part of me will surely die."
I die a little every day. And so I cry.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
100 Girls
"WITHOUT YOU, I'm as lonely as an abandoned dog on the side of a highway. I have gift anxiety, even though I don't know when your birthday is. We can spend perfect days shopping and cooking together. I swear I'll never make wisecracks when you scrape your tires against the curb while parallel parking. If you consent to live with me, I'll clean the toilet every week--I'll do it with my tongue if you ask. I will strike the words "hooters" and "love rockets" from my vocabulary. I'll love you, even if your name is Mimi and you want me to pronounce it May-may. I will only pass gas under the covers and only the direst of circumstances. I'll go on a low cholesterol diet, and I won't buy one of those red sports cars when I reach my mid-life crisis. Your parents can come visit us every week--even if your mom is a big witch with a capital "B." You know, and your parents don't have to live in a retirement home because they can come live with us. I declare: I will separate the whites from the colors. I'll learn the mysteries of hot water and cold water washes. I'll never huff and puff while waiting for you to put on your makeup. If you're a cat person, I'll never point out that a dog can save your life from drowning but a cat can't. I will happily go see chic-flicks with you, like "Pride and Prejudice." I'll make a point to try new foods like okra gumbo. I won't curl my nose at vegetables whose awful taste is disguised by putting cheese on it. I pledge to always say "yes" when you ask, "Is my hair looking okay tonight?" I'm going to bring a whole new meaning to the word "cuddle." I'll be thoughtful enough to read your horoscope every day. I'm going to save every birthday card you send me, and I'll actually write you real letters when we're apart. I'm never going to expect you to remember where I left my car keys, and I'll never leave my socks on the floor. With me, you'll find the cap is always on the toothpaste. I'll start wearing those male bikini underwears if you like. My belly button will always be lint-free. I want to full-on kiss your clitoris. It will be the most passionate, intimate experience you've ever have. I declare now that I will give my life to you, and if you fail to come to me, I know some part of me will surely die."
---------------------------------------------------
I just finished watching this movie, and I believe it's unexpectedly going high on my list of all-time favorites. I streamed it from Netflix online expecting to watch some brainless romantic comedy, but I was amazed at how philosophical a movie it truly is. In my mind, it properly defined the power struggle between real men and real women: it defined old-school feminism from the humanist male's perspective.
Furthermore, I really enjoyed this movie's one sex scene. Every other movie I've seen portrays it as either an object to be acquired or some "beautiful romantic perfection." The reality is that the beauty, romanticism, and perfection is in the *reality* of the humor, noises, messiness, pleasure, and utter intimacy of the clumsiness that comes with familiarizing yourself with someone else's body.
This movie represents romantic love as I see it and as I delude myself into believing that I've experienced it. We all fall in love with an ideal just to find out this ideal is NOT the person we're with... and then we fall in love with the reality.
---------------------------------------------------
I just finished watching this movie, and I believe it's unexpectedly going high on my list of all-time favorites. I streamed it from Netflix online expecting to watch some brainless romantic comedy, but I was amazed at how philosophical a movie it truly is. In my mind, it properly defined the power struggle between real men and real women: it defined old-school feminism from the humanist male's perspective.
Furthermore, I really enjoyed this movie's one sex scene. Every other movie I've seen portrays it as either an object to be acquired or some "beautiful romantic perfection." The reality is that the beauty, romanticism, and perfection is in the *reality* of the humor, noises, messiness, pleasure, and utter intimacy of the clumsiness that comes with familiarizing yourself with someone else's body.
This movie represents romantic love as I see it and as I delude myself into believing that I've experienced it. We all fall in love with an ideal just to find out this ideal is NOT the person we're with... and then we fall in love with the reality.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Performing Noble Service to Aid Society
I was told recently that I have missed my life's calling and that I am wise beyond my years. While it's a wonderful compliment and nice to think about, the topic of discussion is why this experience has meant so much to me. I spent an evening talking with an old classmate and spouse about their marriage. One of them even said I had given more useful advice than any of the people they had paid.
I'm not writing to discuss their marriage. The issues in their marriage are between them. I'm writing about myself. I recently took a two week trip to the east coast, and this is one of several eye-opening and self-validating experiences I had along the way.
I went back home for my ten year high school reunion. Traveling from Los Angeles to Asheville, NC, I held the record this time around for greatest distance traveled to get to the reunion. On top of this, I also held the record for most divorces (at two). Of course everyone asked me how I like California, and the response that I gave was that I fit in better out here--being a liberal, an atheist, and a relatively aggressive driver. As the two-day event went on, eventually I realized that this is actually not true.
What's really been vexing me since then, though, is why. In attempting to pin down a specific reason for this feeling, the best I've been able to elucidate is my difficulty in finding community out here. While my general philosophies fit in better out here, I still find myself alone and without a true friend nearly four years in. Furthermore, I haven't been single this long since early in high school. My theory is that Los Angeles is full of so many materialistic users-of-people that every initial meeting has an artificial barrier of distrust and uneasiness that must be slowly broken down over time; anything that makes you look exceptionally friendly, open, intelligent, or trustworthy is assumed to be a front--an attempt to portray yourself as something you truly aren't in order to position yourself better to take advantage of someone less guarded.
Or perhaps after marrying a woman who wasn't the person she portrayed and having her cheat and leave me for another man, maybe I'm the one distrusting and guarded. (Who needs therapy when you have a blog, eh?)
Spending time with my classmates helped to remind me of whom I really am. I went to school with these people from middle school to high school, so they were present for the most profound example of self-discovery I've had in my entire life: I'm smart. As stated unprompted by one of my classmates, I'm "the smartest guy in our class." You may be reading this and thinking that I'm arrogant or egotistical for just bringing it up, but my intelligence is one of many defining characteristics. With my class mates, I don't have to prove this. To my own initial surprise at the time, I already have... over and over again. If anything, my biggest dream for the past ten years has been to show up at the reunion and prove that this isn't all I am. I never imagined that I would show up to my reunion alone, but I can't imagine how I could have differentiated myself better if I had not been alone.
I bought a book many years ago when I originally began learning about the Myers-Briggs typology. The description of my type was, "performing noble service to aid society." For many years, I did not truly understand, and I even felt a little like a failure to my own personality type. In the past year, I've realized that I've been doing this all along, but I do it under a different guise: I'm a rescuer and a protector. I've always been one to keep an eye open when I see people in sticky situations, ready to offer help in whatever way I can.
This is actually the one thing I loved most about my five-year job at Radio Shack. I regularly got to help people understand things that they otherwise wouldn't have had a chance to understand. It was a commission-based job, but I'm not a sales person. I was unwilling to jump through the company's hoops and pressure customers into completely unrelated gimmicks. Unfortunately, this meant I was never paid well, but I loved it anyway.
My "noble service" has always been something I do for an individual. For me, it's like improving society one random act of kindness at a time. I don't do laundry for people, mow lawns for my neighbors, volunteer at the homeless shelter, or even help old ladies cross the street. I do, however, put money in expired parking meters, smile and wave at little kids, fix random broken things, and I do my best to make sure the stranger sitting next to me on the plane is as comfortable as possible. For this most recent trip, that involved talking with woman for hours and sharing the music on my iPhone with her. I even managed to find a pair of artists that spoke to her so perfectly that she cried to the lyrics of the songs (that would be The Indigo Girls).
There was enough about her that made this a non-starter as far as a romantic relationship is concerned (she lives on the far side of the continent, has a kid, and is married). If it weren't for all of this, I think we each would have been interested in the other, and this was surprising. It's been a really really long time since I've felt that kind of mutual interest, and it really meant a lot to me. Furthermore, this experience also reminded me of the fact that I have been completely unsuccessful in finding someone with whom I share my basic philosophical beliefs. The people I get along best with are those least likely to also be atheists, as people driven by emotion are the least likely to subscribe to a logical philosophy that implies that as part of the universe, we truly are small and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
My two distinct rescue attempts at my class reunion both represent the epitome of me, and both are events that the "rescued" would probably prefer I not divulge in detail (one is not discussed at all). As I mentioned in a blog entry nearly two years ago, I'm aware that my habit of rescuing people has gotten me into relationships that probably shouldn't have lasted remotely as long as they did. I've learned that while the people I help out are exceptionally grateful, and women love a man that has come to her rescue, this is definitely not a good way to start a long-term relationship.
Despite the detail that an incredibly small number of people experienced this side of me at the reunion, I still feel like this counts as success. Regardless of whether anyone ever mentions anything again, I know I made a big difference in several people's lives--at least for a little while, and that has made all the difference to me.
I'm not writing to discuss their marriage. The issues in their marriage are between them. I'm writing about myself. I recently took a two week trip to the east coast, and this is one of several eye-opening and self-validating experiences I had along the way.
I went back home for my ten year high school reunion. Traveling from Los Angeles to Asheville, NC, I held the record this time around for greatest distance traveled to get to the reunion. On top of this, I also held the record for most divorces (at two). Of course everyone asked me how I like California, and the response that I gave was that I fit in better out here--being a liberal, an atheist, and a relatively aggressive driver. As the two-day event went on, eventually I realized that this is actually not true.
What's really been vexing me since then, though, is why. In attempting to pin down a specific reason for this feeling, the best I've been able to elucidate is my difficulty in finding community out here. While my general philosophies fit in better out here, I still find myself alone and without a true friend nearly four years in. Furthermore, I haven't been single this long since early in high school. My theory is that Los Angeles is full of so many materialistic users-of-people that every initial meeting has an artificial barrier of distrust and uneasiness that must be slowly broken down over time; anything that makes you look exceptionally friendly, open, intelligent, or trustworthy is assumed to be a front--an attempt to portray yourself as something you truly aren't in order to position yourself better to take advantage of someone less guarded.
Or perhaps after marrying a woman who wasn't the person she portrayed and having her cheat and leave me for another man, maybe I'm the one distrusting and guarded. (Who needs therapy when you have a blog, eh?)
Spending time with my classmates helped to remind me of whom I really am. I went to school with these people from middle school to high school, so they were present for the most profound example of self-discovery I've had in my entire life: I'm smart. As stated unprompted by one of my classmates, I'm "the smartest guy in our class." You may be reading this and thinking that I'm arrogant or egotistical for just bringing it up, but my intelligence is one of many defining characteristics. With my class mates, I don't have to prove this. To my own initial surprise at the time, I already have... over and over again. If anything, my biggest dream for the past ten years has been to show up at the reunion and prove that this isn't all I am. I never imagined that I would show up to my reunion alone, but I can't imagine how I could have differentiated myself better if I had not been alone.
I bought a book many years ago when I originally began learning about the Myers-Briggs typology. The description of my type was, "performing noble service to aid society." For many years, I did not truly understand, and I even felt a little like a failure to my own personality type. In the past year, I've realized that I've been doing this all along, but I do it under a different guise: I'm a rescuer and a protector. I've always been one to keep an eye open when I see people in sticky situations, ready to offer help in whatever way I can.
This is actually the one thing I loved most about my five-year job at Radio Shack. I regularly got to help people understand things that they otherwise wouldn't have had a chance to understand. It was a commission-based job, but I'm not a sales person. I was unwilling to jump through the company's hoops and pressure customers into completely unrelated gimmicks. Unfortunately, this meant I was never paid well, but I loved it anyway.
My "noble service" has always been something I do for an individual. For me, it's like improving society one random act of kindness at a time. I don't do laundry for people, mow lawns for my neighbors, volunteer at the homeless shelter, or even help old ladies cross the street. I do, however, put money in expired parking meters, smile and wave at little kids, fix random broken things, and I do my best to make sure the stranger sitting next to me on the plane is as comfortable as possible. For this most recent trip, that involved talking with woman for hours and sharing the music on my iPhone with her. I even managed to find a pair of artists that spoke to her so perfectly that she cried to the lyrics of the songs (that would be The Indigo Girls).
There was enough about her that made this a non-starter as far as a romantic relationship is concerned (she lives on the far side of the continent, has a kid, and is married). If it weren't for all of this, I think we each would have been interested in the other, and this was surprising. It's been a really really long time since I've felt that kind of mutual interest, and it really meant a lot to me. Furthermore, this experience also reminded me of the fact that I have been completely unsuccessful in finding someone with whom I share my basic philosophical beliefs. The people I get along best with are those least likely to also be atheists, as people driven by emotion are the least likely to subscribe to a logical philosophy that implies that as part of the universe, we truly are small and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
My two distinct rescue attempts at my class reunion both represent the epitome of me, and both are events that the "rescued" would probably prefer I not divulge in detail (one is not discussed at all). As I mentioned in a blog entry nearly two years ago, I'm aware that my habit of rescuing people has gotten me into relationships that probably shouldn't have lasted remotely as long as they did. I've learned that while the people I help out are exceptionally grateful, and women love a man that has come to her rescue, this is definitely not a good way to start a long-term relationship.
Despite the detail that an incredibly small number of people experienced this side of me at the reunion, I still feel like this counts as success. Regardless of whether anyone ever mentions anything again, I know I made a big difference in several people's lives--at least for a little while, and that has made all the difference to me.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sex Before Marriage
Waiting until marriage is a deal-breaker for me. It's illogical. I'll wait until we're ready, be it weeks, months, or years, but I'm not going to "wait until marriage."
For some people, the argument of "sexual compatibility" is used against waiting for marriage. This is the belief that two people could find themselves sexually incompatible and wind up getting divorced over that. I find this to be utter nonsense and inapplicable to the situation at hand. People that pose this argument clearly do not consider sex to be an expression of love. The argument degrades sex to the level of bodily function and degrades the other person to nothing more than a sexual object, which in turn means that marriage is not done for love but for ownership, financial reasons, or nearly guaranteed paternity.
From this view on sex comes the idea that sex outside of marriage is a Bad Thing™, and this has the unfortunate side-effect of placing a stigma on sex in general. Ironically, this also means that people get married when they aren't socially compatible--as opposed to the common argument of sexual compatibility. Because of this stigma, people who are having sex wind up feeling bad about it and wind up being pressured to get married when they really shouldn't be getting married.
People who are waiting for marriage to have sex are not exempt from this pressure--it just comes from a different angle. Instead of the shame of sex outside of marriage, they deal with the pressure of getting married so they can have sex. The human mind is wonderful at rationalizing in order to get the results it desires. Personally, before having sex with a woman, I twice convinced myself that I did actually want to marry her (and followed through with it both times).
I completely respect the desire not to be one who sleeps around--I have the same desire--but I must respectfully disagree with the Christian concept of waiting for marriage, and I especially despise the shame that comes with it--both on a logical and personal level. Sex is not a bad thing--it's a wonderful, beautiful thing, and for me, it's a way of showing a woman just how special she is to me. It's a way of showing that I do care about her and value her more than anyone else, but anyone would be a fool to believe that the act of sex is limited to this.
For some people, the argument of "sexual compatibility" is used against waiting for marriage. This is the belief that two people could find themselves sexually incompatible and wind up getting divorced over that. I find this to be utter nonsense and inapplicable to the situation at hand. People that pose this argument clearly do not consider sex to be an expression of love. The argument degrades sex to the level of bodily function and degrades the other person to nothing more than a sexual object, which in turn means that marriage is not done for love but for ownership, financial reasons, or nearly guaranteed paternity.
From this view on sex comes the idea that sex outside of marriage is a Bad Thing™, and this has the unfortunate side-effect of placing a stigma on sex in general. Ironically, this also means that people get married when they aren't socially compatible--as opposed to the common argument of sexual compatibility. Because of this stigma, people who are having sex wind up feeling bad about it and wind up being pressured to get married when they really shouldn't be getting married.
People who are waiting for marriage to have sex are not exempt from this pressure--it just comes from a different angle. Instead of the shame of sex outside of marriage, they deal with the pressure of getting married so they can have sex. The human mind is wonderful at rationalizing in order to get the results it desires. Personally, before having sex with a woman, I twice convinced myself that I did actually want to marry her (and followed through with it both times).
I completely respect the desire not to be one who sleeps around--I have the same desire--but I must respectfully disagree with the Christian concept of waiting for marriage, and I especially despise the shame that comes with it--both on a logical and personal level. Sex is not a bad thing--it's a wonderful, beautiful thing, and for me, it's a way of showing a woman just how special she is to me. It's a way of showing that I do care about her and value her more than anyone else, but anyone would be a fool to believe that the act of sex is limited to this.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Off the meds...
Due to unusual circumstances, I've been off my medication for nearly two weeks. Since the vertigo is gone, I'm starting to believe that I've moved past the withdrawal symptoms, and I've become the real "me." I have a ridiculously bad memory when it comes to subtle details like this, but I don't really remember what it was like *before* the antianxiety medication. Therefore, sometimes I wonder if it's still doing anything for me.
I do remember that within an hour of taking my first dose three years ago, I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I was enjoying being out, driving around town alone. I actually went to the mall and enjoyed it. It was the strangest experience--wanting to go to the mall. Granted, all I got was a few Godiva truffles, but that's not the point. Several years before, I walked into Concord Mills the week before Christmas, as I had been dreading doing my shopping. Five minutes in (I hadn't even gotten to a store), I couldn't handle the people and turned around to leave. I remember being proud of myself in high school for actually going to a movie theater alone. I wasn't sure why I was proud of myself, but I was.
As I said, I've been off my meds now for nearly two weeks. Some of my coworkers can tell within a few days that I'm off my meds, which just seems strange to me, since *I* can't tell that quickly. I could, however, tell a difference this weekend (and a wee bit through last week). I had all day yesterday to go refill my prescription, but I couldn't make myself walk to my car and drive to the pharmacy. I just couldn't do it. It's the exact same sense of impending doom that made me leave the mall. I know there's nothing to be afraid of, but I just couldn't make myself stand up and go.
Strangely, though, I feel that being *on* the meds isn't much better. I suppose I just haven't found the right SSRI for me. Lexapro was nice, but its effectiveness wore off after time. Effexor (what I'm on now) is better with the anxiety, but it doesn't get me through an entire day... and it comes with a sometimes unbearable depression. Unfortunately, I switched medications about the time my wife left me, so I really have had no way of knowing if it's the fault of the medication. That is, until now, I guess.
In March, I hit what I considered to be "rock bottom." I think anyone would agree that staying at the office, playing video games until two or three in the morning, just to go home, get a few hours of sleep, and be back by about nine the next morning counts as "having a problem." So, I forced myself; I gave myself a reason to go home.
I got a bird. Dogs and cats are too easy. You don't have to do anything for them to like you. Birds, on the other hand, are not mammals, and they are prey animals. Therefore, it takes effort to get a parrot to open up to you or to people in general. I wanted an animal that made *me* feel special, and having a parrot that likes me does just that.
Ultimately, what I really want(ed) is another person, but that has been out of my reach for too long. Having a pet satisfies the minimalistic desires for a warm body and minimal communication, but it's also generally better than a human for attention (that is, if attention is what you want).
Anyway... while I couldn't bring myself to go refill my meds, I am going to go watch a movie. It's depressing to spend an entire weekend alone. It's depressing not to be able to call a friend to hang out. It's depressing to find myself crying at every reference to anything remotely emotional in some old TV show. It's depressing. So, I'm going to go sit in a likely empty movie theater alone for the next few hours, as at least then, I can escape from my own depressing reality and pretend that I'm in someone else's depressing reality, where at least they have love.
Damn, I need a hug. No, not just a hug... I feel like sobbing into the nape of someone's neck, drenching her hair, wishing things were different. It's not very macho or manly, but I've never claimed (nor have I ever wanted) to be.
I do remember that within an hour of taking my first dose three years ago, I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I was enjoying being out, driving around town alone. I actually went to the mall and enjoyed it. It was the strangest experience--wanting to go to the mall. Granted, all I got was a few Godiva truffles, but that's not the point. Several years before, I walked into Concord Mills the week before Christmas, as I had been dreading doing my shopping. Five minutes in (I hadn't even gotten to a store), I couldn't handle the people and turned around to leave. I remember being proud of myself in high school for actually going to a movie theater alone. I wasn't sure why I was proud of myself, but I was.
As I said, I've been off my meds now for nearly two weeks. Some of my coworkers can tell within a few days that I'm off my meds, which just seems strange to me, since *I* can't tell that quickly. I could, however, tell a difference this weekend (and a wee bit through last week). I had all day yesterday to go refill my prescription, but I couldn't make myself walk to my car and drive to the pharmacy. I just couldn't do it. It's the exact same sense of impending doom that made me leave the mall. I know there's nothing to be afraid of, but I just couldn't make myself stand up and go.
Strangely, though, I feel that being *on* the meds isn't much better. I suppose I just haven't found the right SSRI for me. Lexapro was nice, but its effectiveness wore off after time. Effexor (what I'm on now) is better with the anxiety, but it doesn't get me through an entire day... and it comes with a sometimes unbearable depression. Unfortunately, I switched medications about the time my wife left me, so I really have had no way of knowing if it's the fault of the medication. That is, until now, I guess.
In March, I hit what I considered to be "rock bottom." I think anyone would agree that staying at the office, playing video games until two or three in the morning, just to go home, get a few hours of sleep, and be back by about nine the next morning counts as "having a problem." So, I forced myself; I gave myself a reason to go home.
I got a bird. Dogs and cats are too easy. You don't have to do anything for them to like you. Birds, on the other hand, are not mammals, and they are prey animals. Therefore, it takes effort to get a parrot to open up to you or to people in general. I wanted an animal that made *me* feel special, and having a parrot that likes me does just that.
Ultimately, what I really want(ed) is another person, but that has been out of my reach for too long. Having a pet satisfies the minimalistic desires for a warm body and minimal communication, but it's also generally better than a human for attention (that is, if attention is what you want).
Anyway... while I couldn't bring myself to go refill my meds, I am going to go watch a movie. It's depressing to spend an entire weekend alone. It's depressing not to be able to call a friend to hang out. It's depressing to find myself crying at every reference to anything remotely emotional in some old TV show. It's depressing. So, I'm going to go sit in a likely empty movie theater alone for the next few hours, as at least then, I can escape from my own depressing reality and pretend that I'm in someone else's depressing reality, where at least they have love.
Damn, I need a hug. No, not just a hug... I feel like sobbing into the nape of someone's neck, drenching her hair, wishing things were different. It's not very macho or manly, but I've never claimed (nor have I ever wanted) to be.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
INFJ Redux
Last year, I wrote a blog entry about whether I might actually be an INFJ instead of an INFP. I took the test again, and yet again, it scored me as an INFJ.
This is the only test that has consistently scored me as an INFJ. After extensive research, I have come to the conclusion that it is WRONG, despite the fact that I read the descriptions last night of the INFP and INFJ in the one book I have and found it shocking that I agreed with the INFJ description MORE. Oddly, though, I found actual INFPs and INFJs online saying that non INFXs have their own preconceived notions of what we're supposed to be like, and it's impossible to convince them that they are wrong, since they "have more experience than [we do]."
There are two key distinctions between INFPs and INFJs that I've found, and BOTH put me solidly in the INFP camp.
1: INFPs use an informing method of speech, where INFJs use a directing form. i.e. I'll say, "I'm hungry," where an INFJ would say, "let's eat." People with the directing preference think of informers as passive-aggressive, and informers think of directors as bossy. http://www.infjorinfp.com/docs/PreferredCommunicationStyle.htm
2: There's a subtle difference in the priorities of the blah blah blah, so INFPs are Fi, Ne, whereas INFJs are Ni Fe. That is, my emotions are all mine (something about hero complex), but my intuition is readily given to others (parenting). With the INFJ, the intuition stays internal (hero), but the feelings are readily given to others (parenting). This is something I'm still trying to learn and make sense of. I can see how the INFP approach applies to me, and I am having a difficult time grasping the INFJ approach. Oddly, the exact same differences can be had between the ENFP and the INFP. So, the ENFP and INFJ both are Ni Fe, but the INFP is Fi Ne. http://www.personalitypage.com/INFP.html for a list, but no actual info. Info is here: http://www.infjorinfp.com/docs/8CognitiveProcesses.htm
From Jungian psychology, the Myers-Briggs inherits The Eight Cognitive Processes. Supposedly, each of the 16 types in the MBTI shares a specific set of four strengths and four weaknesses in these eight cognitive processes. The strengths for the INFP and INFJ are as follows:
Soooooo, I really AM an INFP. All the way. Not an INFJ. The test is misinterpreting my organization as me being a J, where it instead counts toward the INFP's Inferior preference for Extraverted Thinking (also defined as ORGANIZING).
This time around, I've done a fair amount of research. I still have more to go, but I'm learning. There is a fair amount on a site that is focused on this very issue--distinguishing between the INFJ and INFP. I've learned quite a lot from it, but the situation is not abundantly clear.
First, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that I'm an xNFx. The only person I know that tries to claim I'm an extrovert is my ENFP mother... who is trying to claim that *she* is an INFP. Hmmm... Anyway, so I'm definitely an INFx. The vast majority of what I've come across throughout my life organizes me as a very definite Perceiver--usually near 100%.
This is the only test that has consistently scored me as an INFJ. After extensive research, I have come to the conclusion that it is WRONG, despite the fact that I read the descriptions last night of the INFP and INFJ in the one book I have and found it shocking that I agreed with the INFJ description MORE. Oddly, though, I found actual INFPs and INFJs online saying that non INFXs have their own preconceived notions of what we're supposed to be like, and it's impossible to convince them that they are wrong, since they "have more experience than [we do]."
There are two key distinctions between INFPs and INFJs that I've found, and BOTH put me solidly in the INFP camp.
1: INFPs use an informing method of speech, where INFJs use a directing form. i.e. I'll say, "I'm hungry," where an INFJ would say, "let's eat." People with the directing preference think of informers as passive-aggressive, and informers think of directors as bossy. http://www.infjorinfp.com/
2: There's a subtle difference in the priorities of the blah blah blah, so INFPs are Fi, Ne, whereas INFJs are Ni Fe. That is, my emotions are all mine (something about hero complex), but my intuition is readily given to others (parenting). With the INFJ, the intuition stays internal (hero), but the feelings are readily given to others (parenting). This is something I'm still trying to learn and make sense of. I can see how the INFP approach applies to me, and I am having a difficult time grasping the INFJ approach. Oddly, the exact same differences can be had between the ENFP and the INFP. So, the ENFP and INFJ both are Ni Fe, but the INFP is Fi Ne. http://www.personalitypage.
From Jungian psychology, the Myers-Briggs inherits The Eight Cognitive Processes. Supposedly, each of the 16 types in the MBTI shares a specific set of four strengths and four weaknesses in these eight cognitive processes. The strengths for the INFP and INFJ are as follows:
| Dominant | Fi | (Introverted Feeling) |
|---|---|---|
| Auxiliary | Ne | (Extraverted Intuition) |
| Tertiary | Si | (Introverted Sensing) |
| Inferior | Te | (Extraverted Thinking) |
| Dominant | Ni | (Introverted Intuition) |
|---|---|---|
| Auxiliary | Fe | (Extraverted Feeling) |
| Tertiary | Ti | (Introverted Thinking) |
| Inferior | Se | (Extraverted Sensing) |
Soooooo, I really AM an INFP. All the way. Not an INFJ. The test is misinterpreting my organization as me being a J, where it instead counts toward the INFP's Inferior preference for Extraverted Thinking (also defined as ORGANIZING).
This time around, I've done a fair amount of research. I still have more to go, but I'm learning. There is a fair amount on a site that is focused on this very issue--distinguishing between the INFJ and INFP. I've learned quite a lot from it, but the situation is not abundantly clear.
First, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that I'm an xNFx. The only person I know that tries to claim I'm an extrovert is my ENFP mother... who is trying to claim that *she* is an INFP. Hmmm... Anyway, so I'm definitely an INFx. The vast majority of what I've come across throughout my life organizes me as a very definite Perceiver--usually near 100%.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The Five Love Languages - Physical Touch
Over the past few weeks, I've been slowly coming to terms with the fact that my Love Language is Physical Touch. Every time I've taken the tests, this is how I've scored.
Somewhere along the line, I got the impression that this love language was a Bad Thing™, so I didn't accept my results. I wrote in an earlier blog entry about my experiences with Words of Affirmation, but I was wrong in my assertion that it was my primary love language; it's my secondary love language. I even went through the effort of writing up my own test to determine your love language. The original version wasn't written well enough, and my results came out extremely one-sided. I modified the test to include very few options to force people to choose something other than their primary love language on some of the questions. I still came out very strongly as Physical Touch. Ironically, my low scores in Acts of Service and Receiving Gifts are backed up by my key difficulty in writing the test: I had a very difficult time coming up with multiple unique examples for these languages.
The implications of having this as my primary love language, though, are far more interesting. I have explicit memories of feeling extremely lonely during middle school and high school. My desire wasn't to have someone to talk with or to spend time with. My family and my best friend satisfied those every day. I didn't desire to be praised, as I got that from my math teachers, the county board of education, and of course my family.
What I remember is wishing I had someone to hold. I would imagine putting my arms around her while she rested her head on my chest. I've come to realize that this is probably a large part of why I've never been satisfied with being single. The whole concept of being happy with being single just seems foreign to me. How can I be happy if I have no one to hold hands with, no one to hug every day, no one to snuggle with on the sofa during a movie? Ultimately, it boils down to this: how can I be happy if I don't feel loved?
It also seems rather telling that most of my best memories of various past relationships involve some sort of physical touch:
• Learning to ballroom dance... and the Tango was my favorite.
• Long walks along the beach at night, holding hands
• Holding her hand beneath mine on the car's gear shift while I'm driving
• Playing with her hair--again while I'm driving... actually, just about any time...
• Giving back rubs
• My mom's scalp massages
• Snuggling under the covers in the middle of nowhere watching a meteor shower
• Giving my best friend a big hug when we meet (he lives twelve time zones away--we don't see each other often)
• Every first kiss over more than the past decade
• The big bear hugs I give people
• Two honeymoons, though technically, the one I had to get drunk wasn't really the best of memories
• My bird falling asleep while I'm holding him
• "Sitting in a broken circle while you rest upon my knee... this purrrrrrrfect moment will soon be leaving me"
To me, physical touch of any kind is very intimate. I can tell a lot about a person and our relationship by the hug. Likewise, the sex is even more revealing. The lesbian acted like it was a chore... unless it involved lesbian fantasies. The cheater always felt less valuable as a female. I believe the one I didn't marry taught me more about myself, though--that I love giving pleasure. This makes sense, since I had the hardest time properly pleasing the other two. The first, since I wasn't female, and the second because she faked orgasms for a long time. While the second was best at physically pleasuring me (ironically the least experienced with other guys), the third was the most fun--because I had no difficulty at all in pleasuring her. She even said I was the best she'd ever had. Unfortunately, it was also difficult because I knew I didn't love her. How could I continue to express so much love when it's not there? Sex without love feels like a lie every single time. I suspect I'll be celibate for a while.
But how can I be happy if I don't feel loved?
Somewhere along the line, I got the impression that this love language was a Bad Thing™, so I didn't accept my results. I wrote in an earlier blog entry about my experiences with Words of Affirmation, but I was wrong in my assertion that it was my primary love language; it's my secondary love language. I even went through the effort of writing up my own test to determine your love language. The original version wasn't written well enough, and my results came out extremely one-sided. I modified the test to include very few options to force people to choose something other than their primary love language on some of the questions. I still came out very strongly as Physical Touch. Ironically, my low scores in Acts of Service and Receiving Gifts are backed up by my key difficulty in writing the test: I had a very difficult time coming up with multiple unique examples for these languages.
The implications of having this as my primary love language, though, are far more interesting. I have explicit memories of feeling extremely lonely during middle school and high school. My desire wasn't to have someone to talk with or to spend time with. My family and my best friend satisfied those every day. I didn't desire to be praised, as I got that from my math teachers, the county board of education, and of course my family.
What I remember is wishing I had someone to hold. I would imagine putting my arms around her while she rested her head on my chest. I've come to realize that this is probably a large part of why I've never been satisfied with being single. The whole concept of being happy with being single just seems foreign to me. How can I be happy if I have no one to hold hands with, no one to hug every day, no one to snuggle with on the sofa during a movie? Ultimately, it boils down to this: how can I be happy if I don't feel loved?
It also seems rather telling that most of my best memories of various past relationships involve some sort of physical touch:
• Learning to ballroom dance... and the Tango was my favorite.
• Long walks along the beach at night, holding hands
• Holding her hand beneath mine on the car's gear shift while I'm driving
• Playing with her hair--again while I'm driving... actually, just about any time...
• Giving back rubs
• My mom's scalp massages
• Snuggling under the covers in the middle of nowhere watching a meteor shower
• Giving my best friend a big hug when we meet (he lives twelve time zones away--we don't see each other often)
• Every first kiss over more than the past decade
• The big bear hugs I give people
• Two honeymoons, though technically, the one I had to get drunk wasn't really the best of memories
• My bird falling asleep while I'm holding him
• "Sitting in a broken circle while you rest upon my knee... this purrrrrrrfect moment will soon be leaving me"
To me, physical touch of any kind is very intimate. I can tell a lot about a person and our relationship by the hug. Likewise, the sex is even more revealing. The lesbian acted like it was a chore... unless it involved lesbian fantasies. The cheater always felt less valuable as a female. I believe the one I didn't marry taught me more about myself, though--that I love giving pleasure. This makes sense, since I had the hardest time properly pleasing the other two. The first, since I wasn't female, and the second because she faked orgasms for a long time. While the second was best at physically pleasuring me (ironically the least experienced with other guys), the third was the most fun--because I had no difficulty at all in pleasuring her. She even said I was the best she'd ever had. Unfortunately, it was also difficult because I knew I didn't love her. How could I continue to express so much love when it's not there? Sex without love feels like a lie every single time. I suspect I'll be celibate for a while.
But how can I be happy if I don't feel loved?
Friday, June 13, 2008
Interesting Things About Me
1) I am a native of Asheville, NC. I would have been the eighth generation to live on the same family land in the mountains of Western North Carolina.
2) I don't have a Southern Accent, despite growing up there.I'm not even particularly good at faking it.
3) I can sing... well. I performed in several musicals in high school, and I got the big solo in West Side Story ("There's a Place for Us").
4) Despite my mother being a piano teacher, I taught myself to play the piano. I played the flute in elementary school, the trumpet in middle school, and I played the piano all through high school and college. I seriously considered majoring in music.
5) I've been studying psychology on my own since middle school. I became fascinated early on with personality types and the Myers-Briggs in specific. I seriously considered majoring in psychology.
6) In high school, I read all about relativity. I really enjoyed learning all about how our universe works. Someday, I might get a masters (or more) in physics.
7) The doctors told my mother I would be mentally retarded. Because I'm so quiet, she always wondered if they might have been right. She'd say, "well, at least he'll get by on his looks."
8) In the 7th grade, I discovered quite by accident that I'm smart. Everyone in our math class was given a test to take--basically a math competition. I was shocked when I found out I got the highest score in the class. Then I found out I got the highest score in the school. I also got the highest score in the county--by two points (I got 18 out of 25).
9) I did the same thing again the next year.
A) I did the same thing again the next year, but this year, I was competing with high school students. If I remember correctly, I did the same thing every year thereafter, though I never topped my freshman score.
B) I didn't have my multiplication tables memorized until late in high school. Yes, I did multiplication on my fingers.
C) I suck at arithmetic. I take that back. According to the IQ Adventure Test on okcupid, I'm pretty darn good relative to most people, but I feel like I suck at arithmetic. There's a difference between Mathematics and Arithmetic. I kick ass at math. I majored in it.
D) I grew up without cable. For most of my childhood, we didn't even have a TV.
E) I don't have a TV. I watch movies on my computer. I gave my TV away a long time ago.
F) I have a core body temperature well below 97°. My mother and all of my siblings do as well. Some people claim that this means we're descended from aliens. (hahahahaha!)
10) I didn't successfully learn to program on a computer until the summer before my first year in college--as a computer science major. I had only programmed my TI graphing calculator before starting college. Now, I'm a programmer... and my hobby of studying psychology has come in handy. By the way, In hexadecimal, "10" means sixteen. :)
11) I was raised Christian--mostly Presbyterian. I went to a Southern Baptist church through middle school and for a while in high school. I've been born again and baptized, and I was a part of the youth band for several years (played piano on Wednesday evenings).
12) I'm an atheist. I go back and forth between being an agnostic atheist and the asshole "I'm right" kind of atheist. It depends on my mood. (Yes, I really *am* an INFP... no INTP would ever say something like that.) As an advanced mathematician, I am aware of the concept of higher dimensions, so I'm not opposed to the possibility that there could be sentient beings of higher dimensions.
13) I'm a firm believer in the Weak Anthropic Principle. If you try to use logic to argue for god with me, you will lose. I believe you have the right to believe whatever you want (otherwise we're talking 1984 and Big Brother). I won't try to force my beliefs down your throat if you don't try to force yours down someone else's.
14) My dad is a preacher. His specific job is to convert people like me to Christianity.
15) I've lived in California since May, 2005. ALL of my family is on the East Coast.
16) I'm the second of four children in the family. We're all two years apart.
17) I was the first to get married.
18) I was also the second to get married. Wtf?
19) Third and fourth are already taken. Whew.
1A) I didn't forget the hexadecimal thing.
1B) The only thing worse than doing arithmetic in hexadecimal is trying to convert large decimal numbers to binary.
1C) That's what computers are for. :D
1D) I abhor calling for tech support. I absolutely hate the new automated troubleshooting systems that ISPs have now. If I'M calling them, it's THEIR fault.
1E) I have a really hard time asking for help. Let me rephrase that. I never ask for help.
1F) Unless it's physical labor. I hate physical labor.
20) I get along better with the girls than I do with the guys. The idea of a "guys' night out" gives me the heebie jeebies.
21) If you have to ask how to know if you're in love, then you aren't.
2) I don't have a Southern Accent, despite growing up there.I'm not even particularly good at faking it.
3) I can sing... well. I performed in several musicals in high school, and I got the big solo in West Side Story ("There's a Place for Us").
4) Despite my mother being a piano teacher, I taught myself to play the piano. I played the flute in elementary school, the trumpet in middle school, and I played the piano all through high school and college. I seriously considered majoring in music.
5) I've been studying psychology on my own since middle school. I became fascinated early on with personality types and the Myers-Briggs in specific. I seriously considered majoring in psychology.
6) In high school, I read all about relativity. I really enjoyed learning all about how our universe works. Someday, I might get a masters (or more) in physics.
7) The doctors told my mother I would be mentally retarded. Because I'm so quiet, she always wondered if they might have been right. She'd say, "well, at least he'll get by on his looks."
8) In the 7th grade, I discovered quite by accident that I'm smart. Everyone in our math class was given a test to take--basically a math competition. I was shocked when I found out I got the highest score in the class. Then I found out I got the highest score in the school. I also got the highest score in the county--by two points (I got 18 out of 25).
9) I did the same thing again the next year.
A) I did the same thing again the next year, but this year, I was competing with high school students. If I remember correctly, I did the same thing every year thereafter, though I never topped my freshman score.
B) I didn't have my multiplication tables memorized until late in high school. Yes, I did multiplication on my fingers.
C) I suck at arithmetic. I take that back. According to the IQ Adventure Test on okcupid, I'm pretty darn good relative to most people, but I feel like I suck at arithmetic. There's a difference between Mathematics and Arithmetic. I kick ass at math. I majored in it.
D) I grew up without cable. For most of my childhood, we didn't even have a TV.
E) I don't have a TV. I watch movies on my computer. I gave my TV away a long time ago.
F) I have a core body temperature well below 97°. My mother and all of my siblings do as well. Some people claim that this means we're descended from aliens. (hahahahaha!)
10) I didn't successfully learn to program on a computer until the summer before my first year in college--as a computer science major. I had only programmed my TI graphing calculator before starting college. Now, I'm a programmer... and my hobby of studying psychology has come in handy. By the way, In hexadecimal, "10" means sixteen. :)
11) I was raised Christian--mostly Presbyterian. I went to a Southern Baptist church through middle school and for a while in high school. I've been born again and baptized, and I was a part of the youth band for several years (played piano on Wednesday evenings).
12) I'm an atheist. I go back and forth between being an agnostic atheist and the asshole "I'm right" kind of atheist. It depends on my mood. (Yes, I really *am* an INFP... no INTP would ever say something like that.) As an advanced mathematician, I am aware of the concept of higher dimensions, so I'm not opposed to the possibility that there could be sentient beings of higher dimensions.
13) I'm a firm believer in the Weak Anthropic Principle. If you try to use logic to argue for god with me, you will lose. I believe you have the right to believe whatever you want (otherwise we're talking 1984 and Big Brother). I won't try to force my beliefs down your throat if you don't try to force yours down someone else's.
14) My dad is a preacher. His specific job is to convert people like me to Christianity.
15) I've lived in California since May, 2005. ALL of my family is on the East Coast.
16) I'm the second of four children in the family. We're all two years apart.
17) I was the first to get married.
18) I was also the second to get married. Wtf?
19) Third and fourth are already taken. Whew.
1A) I didn't forget the hexadecimal thing.
1B) The only thing worse than doing arithmetic in hexadecimal is trying to convert large decimal numbers to binary.
1C) That's what computers are for. :D
1D) I abhor calling for tech support. I absolutely hate the new automated troubleshooting systems that ISPs have now. If I'M calling them, it's THEIR fault.
1E) I have a really hard time asking for help. Let me rephrase that. I never ask for help.
1F) Unless it's physical labor. I hate physical labor.
20) I get along better with the girls than I do with the guys. The idea of a "guys' night out" gives me the heebie jeebies.
21) If you have to ask how to know if you're in love, then you aren't.
Old Poetry
In high school, I wrote a slew of poetry, but I stopped abruptly. The following are the only two poems I've written in the past twelve years.
the fruit of your labor
January 11, 2002
Your memory crushes me
Your harshness a crutch
You failed to build me up
You failed to destroy me
You fail to enjoy your greatest dream
You insult my creativity
You deny the insult
You invalidated my dreams
You destroyed my art
You deprived the world
Your stoic nature
Your quick wit
Your definite, brilliant opinions
Your open-minded politics
Your closed-minded world
Your never ending cast of blame and denial of error
Pushed me away
You thrived on your creation of words
And abhorred my creations
Enjoy your hell
Rot in your dream
Perfection
August 19, 2007
I am not perfect.
I am intelligent.
I am educated.
I am knowledgeable.
But I am not perfect.
I am strong.
I am emotional.
I am insightful.
I am intuitive.
But I am not perfect.
I am creative.
I am musical.
I am artistic.
I am fluid.
But I am not perfect.
I am well spoken.
I have good grammar.
I have good spelling.
I have good diction.
But I am not perfect.
You think you write better than me.
You think I can't draw.
My music is too loud for you.
I am not the same as you.
And I shouldn't need your approval.
You are not perfect.
I find the power of words to be truly amazing. I'm amazed that one sentence could possibly have instilled so much bitterness in me. Every time I think about writing a poem, I think about how insignificant, how impotent she made me feel, and I'm helpless; I freeze. My brain shuts down and all that's left is the pure emotion, the bitterness, the anger, the hatred, the insecurity, the sheer terror of upsetting her, but she has been out of my life for nearly a decade.
Be careful what you say, as you never know how deeply it can hurt someone--even if the effect isn't immediate. All she said was, "my poetry is better than yours." Ultimately, though, it's not just what you say, as absolutely everything about her demeanor implied she was right and I was wrong.
When I finally left, I was a hollow shell of a man--not even a person. I lost $18k getting out of the marriage, but I wanted out so badly I didn't want to argue over it.
I had just turned 21.
That was a very long time ago.
the fruit of your labor
January 11, 2002
Your memory crushes me
Your harshness a crutch
You failed to build me up
You failed to destroy me
You fail to enjoy your greatest dream
You insult my creativity
You deny the insult
You invalidated my dreams
You destroyed my art
You deprived the world
Your stoic nature
Your quick wit
Your definite, brilliant opinions
Your open-minded politics
Your closed-minded world
Your never ending cast of blame and denial of error
Pushed me away
You thrived on your creation of words
And abhorred my creations
Enjoy your hell
Rot in your dream
Perfection
August 19, 2007
I am not perfect.
I am intelligent.
I am educated.
I am knowledgeable.
But I am not perfect.
I am strong.
I am emotional.
I am insightful.
I am intuitive.
But I am not perfect.
I am creative.
I am musical.
I am artistic.
I am fluid.
But I am not perfect.
I am well spoken.
I have good grammar.
I have good spelling.
I have good diction.
But I am not perfect.
You think you write better than me.
You think I can't draw.
My music is too loud for you.
I am not the same as you.
And I shouldn't need your approval.
You are not perfect.
I find the power of words to be truly amazing. I'm amazed that one sentence could possibly have instilled so much bitterness in me. Every time I think about writing a poem, I think about how insignificant, how impotent she made me feel, and I'm helpless; I freeze. My brain shuts down and all that's left is the pure emotion, the bitterness, the anger, the hatred, the insecurity, the sheer terror of upsetting her, but she has been out of my life for nearly a decade.
Be careful what you say, as you never know how deeply it can hurt someone--even if the effect isn't immediate. All she said was, "my poetry is better than yours." Ultimately, though, it's not just what you say, as absolutely everything about her demeanor implied she was right and I was wrong.
When I finally left, I was a hollow shell of a man--not even a person. I lost $18k getting out of the marriage, but I wanted out so badly I didn't want to argue over it.
I had just turned 21.
That was a very long time ago.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The Five Love Languages -- Update
I've been aware of "The Five Love Languages" for a long time, but I had never actually read it for myself. I finally sat down and read the entire book within a 24-hour period. Learning about this from another person is just not the same as reading it for myself. I was amazed to find that I was completely wrong on my love language (see previous entry on this topic). I'm "Words of Affirmation" and "Physical Touch." In other words, I'm definitely going to tell you how awesome you are, I'll never condescend, and I'll shower you with lots of hugs. If you can't handle that, we aren't a match. :P
Monday, June 9, 2008
I'm an Elitist
I've known people that have gotten really pissed off at me for thinking that I am smarter than most everyone else and that it makes me the least bit different from anyone else. The truth is that I am and it does. I am well aware that it does not make me better than anyone else, but this is one thing that validates my rant about online dating (I'm not sorry if that offended you). If you can't understand how this stuff works, you are not my equal. In my entire life, I have known four peers that I've sat down with and that have been able to keep up with me (one of those four well exceeded me). It is not unreasonable to desire to be understood. Everyone desires to be understood. I desire to be able to have conversations about my ideas. If you find that arrogant or offensive, then I don't particularly care. No, I do care. I care because you are selfishly expecting me to be something I am not, hence the rant.
Note: This was written in November of 2006, is a repost, and it's a subset of a larger (completely unrelated) entry. I had been thinking about writing a *new* entry pointing out that I don't think it's such a bad thing to be "elitist." A few minutes ago, I stumbled across something I wrote two and a half years ago that says it as well as I'd expect to say it now.
Note: This was written in November of 2006, is a repost, and it's a subset of a larger (completely unrelated) entry. I had been thinking about writing a *new* entry pointing out that I don't think it's such a bad thing to be "elitist." A few minutes ago, I stumbled across something I wrote two and a half years ago that says it as well as I'd expect to say it now.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
The Five Love Languages - Words of Affirmation
I learned about The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman several years ago, but I learned about it second-hand--through an SO. As a result, my understanding was directly dependent on her understanding of the love languages. I've been meaning to read it myself for quite some time, and today, I stumbled across it at the bookstore, and now I've read the first 1/3 of the book.
The first language he discusses is "Words of Affirmation." She asserted that this is her love language but concluded that this is NOT my love language. After reading the chapter myself, I'm not so sure any more. In fact, I'm seeing in a completely different light a potential reason for why both of my marriages failed.
I've always been one to fish for compliments, and I know that. I think it's obvious that I'm fishing, but maybe it isn't. I need to be told that I'm important. This is so deeply ingrained in my psyche that it doesn't just apply to personal relationships--it applies to everything that I do. I regularly "show off" at work to whomever is closest (or whomever is likely to care) just so that I can hear someone say, "that's pretty cool," about whatever I built/designed/put together.
In high school, I fell in love with someone I couldn't have. We were good friends and hung out a fair amount, but through circumstances well beyond the scope of this entry, a romantic relationship wasn't an option. I lost my chance. As a result, I put everything I felt in words--poetry. I wrote a fair amount of it. Not all of it was romantic, and not all of it was even relevant to her, but I wrote a lot.
Eventually, I moved on and wound up with someone that was more interested in me. I wrote poetry for her too. I did all kinds of things to express my undying love. I wrote music, I drew, and I even posted a web site proclaiming how incredibly awesome she was. Her response was that my drawings weren't very good and that her poetry was better than mine.
I haven't written any poetry or drawn anything since.
That was ten years ago.
I married her anyway. For me, this relationship turned into a living hell. She had absolutely no grasp on the power of words, despite being an editorial journalist for the university's newspaper. As I interpreted it, she told me every day for a year that she wanted a divorce. Finally, I tried to take her up on what I had interpreted as an offer. At this point, she was completely shocked to find out that asking me every day, "Do you want a divorce," was interpreted as a threat and not as the intended genuine concern that I might be unhappy and want out. In my mind, she never passed up an opportunity to tell me that I was worthless, a complete screw-up, or altogether unlovable (no, these aren't remotely the words she used, but this is how I interpreted it). Obviously, this marriage failed...
...so did the second one. At this point, my primary love language had been reduced to me buying the Hallmark cards that made my second wife so happy that she'd cry--four times per year (Valentines, Anniversary, Birthday, and Christmas). For this, amongst many other reasons, this relationship was doomed from the start.
Last year, I discovered quite by accident that it's in my nature to actively tell a woman exactly how special to me she is. Unfortunately, this woman did not feel the same, and it wound up being a bit much for her and our friendship.
Now, I'm stuck in the position that I'm afraid to say much of anything about what I really think about a woman, as I'm afraid I'm going to come off "too strong" and scare her away. For a very long time, I've also completely avoided bringing up any of my complaints as I've always been afraid that a single complaint would result in the end of the relationship (can you blame me when I heard the question, "do you want a divorce," every day?).
Ironically, the only women I ever tell exactly what I think of them are the ones I don't expect to ever hear back from. Once in a blue moon, I find a woman on a dating site that impresses me for some reason or another, and for yet another reason, I believe a relationship between the two of us would be doomed to fail. I write an email sending a compliment and noting that I don't expect to hear back. These emails are my "just to brighten your day" emails. I know how it would make me feel to receive a no-pressure compliment, so I pass them along.
The first language he discusses is "Words of Affirmation." She asserted that this is her love language but concluded that this is NOT my love language. After reading the chapter myself, I'm not so sure any more. In fact, I'm seeing in a completely different light a potential reason for why both of my marriages failed.
I've always been one to fish for compliments, and I know that. I think it's obvious that I'm fishing, but maybe it isn't. I need to be told that I'm important. This is so deeply ingrained in my psyche that it doesn't just apply to personal relationships--it applies to everything that I do. I regularly "show off" at work to whomever is closest (or whomever is likely to care) just so that I can hear someone say, "that's pretty cool," about whatever I built/designed/put together.
In high school, I fell in love with someone I couldn't have. We were good friends and hung out a fair amount, but through circumstances well beyond the scope of this entry, a romantic relationship wasn't an option. I lost my chance. As a result, I put everything I felt in words--poetry. I wrote a fair amount of it. Not all of it was romantic, and not all of it was even relevant to her, but I wrote a lot.
Eventually, I moved on and wound up with someone that was more interested in me. I wrote poetry for her too. I did all kinds of things to express my undying love. I wrote music, I drew, and I even posted a web site proclaiming how incredibly awesome she was. Her response was that my drawings weren't very good and that her poetry was better than mine.
I haven't written any poetry or drawn anything since.
That was ten years ago.
I married her anyway. For me, this relationship turned into a living hell. She had absolutely no grasp on the power of words, despite being an editorial journalist for the university's newspaper. As I interpreted it, she told me every day for a year that she wanted a divorce. Finally, I tried to take her up on what I had interpreted as an offer. At this point, she was completely shocked to find out that asking me every day, "Do you want a divorce," was interpreted as a threat and not as the intended genuine concern that I might be unhappy and want out. In my mind, she never passed up an opportunity to tell me that I was worthless, a complete screw-up, or altogether unlovable (no, these aren't remotely the words she used, but this is how I interpreted it). Obviously, this marriage failed...
...so did the second one. At this point, my primary love language had been reduced to me buying the Hallmark cards that made my second wife so happy that she'd cry--four times per year (Valentines, Anniversary, Birthday, and Christmas). For this, amongst many other reasons, this relationship was doomed from the start.
Last year, I discovered quite by accident that it's in my nature to actively tell a woman exactly how special to me she is. Unfortunately, this woman did not feel the same, and it wound up being a bit much for her and our friendship.
Now, I'm stuck in the position that I'm afraid to say much of anything about what I really think about a woman, as I'm afraid I'm going to come off "too strong" and scare her away. For a very long time, I've also completely avoided bringing up any of my complaints as I've always been afraid that a single complaint would result in the end of the relationship (can you blame me when I heard the question, "do you want a divorce," every day?).
Ironically, the only women I ever tell exactly what I think of them are the ones I don't expect to ever hear back from. Once in a blue moon, I find a woman on a dating site that impresses me for some reason or another, and for yet another reason, I believe a relationship between the two of us would be doomed to fail. I write an email sending a compliment and noting that I don't expect to hear back. These emails are my "just to brighten your day" emails. I know how it would make me feel to receive a no-pressure compliment, so I pass them along.
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