I can’t believe we’re on week 7 of #WordVomitWednesday already! If this is your first time here, I’ll fill you in: #WordVomitWednesday is something my friend Brian and I initiated to help us write consistently and authentically. Each week, we give each other topics that we are to write on with little to no time to prepare, so as to encourage candid “word vomits”. Some of our friends have joined us too, and it’s been so awesome to see. Please join us! 🙂
inspiration (noun) –
1. the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.
2. the drawing in of breath; inhalation.
Inspiration seems to be this sort of dreamy ideal. I think I tend to idolize and romanticize the idea of inspiration – “I want to inspire people,” “I feel really inspired to do something,” “So-and-so has inspired me to live or think this way.” I’ve said these things a thousand times – I think we all do. Throwing around the word inspiration makes me feel some weird kind of self worth, like I’m living a more meaningful life because of it. Inspiration sounds like ambition, it sounds like drive, it sounds like purpose..but I don’t know if inspiration actually looks like those things in my life, if I’m honest. Continue reading “Inhale, exhale. // #WVW 7”→
My friends and I once saw this fun little article on Thought Catalog titled “The Definition of Hell for Each Myers-Briggs Personality Type” and we thought it would be fun to see what this thing had to say. It says “Here’s the destiny that would psychologically destroy each Myers-Briggs Personality type.”
INFP – Your deepest thoughts and feelings are exposed to a large audience and everyone thinks that you’re pathetic and unoriginal.
6th grade. 12 years old. My favorite color was pink and I wore skirts to school. I had just made the drastic transformation from elementary school tomboy – wearing basketball clothes every day & playing basketball every day at recess – to a girly, dressed up version of myself. I liked this, and began to care more and more about the way I looked. I felt cooler. I felt more validated (By boys. Ugh. I’m cringing).
But you know what was really cool? Being decked out in Hollister & Abercrombie. Layered tanks. Ripped jeans. Jackets. Bags. Everything. Seriously, why did our parents let us buy $25 t-shirts and $50 jeans on the regular?! The more I got sucked in to this, the more expensive my taste got. Suddenly I wanted things like Coach purses, fancy cameras, the newest phones..and surprisingly, I got them. Looking back, I can’t believe how little regard I had for money and how much I had let myself be defined by labels and material things.
For most of my life, I’ve been a creative person. But I’ve spent a lot of my life denying it.
I’m an only child. And after doing some research (and by research, I mean I read the first two articles that popped up on Google), I actually think in a lot of ways I have a form of only child syndrome – sensitive to disapproval, success/achievement driven, uncomfortable with conflict, easy time conversing with adults..etc. But another thing I think that being an only child engrained in my personality was the need to be creative. While I did spend a lot of time around adults, the times that I wasn’t, my only option was to entertain myself. I loved playing with dolls and Polly Pockets because I could create their stories in my head and I didn’t need anyone to play with me. But when I did have someone to play with, I always remember saying “let’s pretend that…”