I - Introvert
Introspective, find yourself alone walking along a sidewalk of fallen leaves, in the quiet of your footsteps. Find yourself in the moments before bed, or when you wake to the first morning light. Find yourself as you read of the lives of others; find that in the quiet there is a peace in your soul to remember. Find out whose you are, and be still.
I listen to my gut. Generally she’s right.
Facts attempt to tell reality. A tree sits outside a window. But, what if I let it stop there? I will never taste it, never imagine reaching towards the pine needles, never smell a breath of Christmas or watch raindrops linger on branches. Never find inspiration. I need smiles, tears, and frowns: they don’t determine truth, and shouldn't always change action, but without them I wouldn't care if truth and action lingered waiting to be grasped. There would be no passion, no love, no hope, it would be a life without color in nature, no songs of birds, no crunching of rocks, no life in reality.
Perhaps? Let me process first because I’m not all the way sure: it’s possible that my tendency towards schedules and checking off lists and occasional quick decisions would determine me to be a judging type person. But then again I stop to look at the sun, and flowers, and the fly buzzing by, and I must consider the needs of others as I weigh how much time to spend sprawling my words across paper. Wait just a moment as I consider whether or not I like spontaneity, or if it is my schedule that maintains my sanity. I’m not sure I’ve found all of the possibilities.