INFJs Are Adjectives Looking for Nouns

As an INFJ I feel like an adjective looking for a noun.

Know what I mean?

For all my pining to have time to myself to recharge, I actually get pretty depressed when I’m by myself. This is part of the complexity of the type itself, being introverted but also needing to spend time with people to stay sane.

When I finally have space to myself, I process all of my feelings and impressions from the day like a big garbage disposal. But at a certain point, I guess I run out of things to process, because I feel noticeably “down,” but the garbage disposal inside my mind is still churning along, looking for connections, meanings, patterns, ways of solving problems that don’t exist yet.

At no point do I feel like I should stop–I could sit on my IKEA Kivik, in my pajamas, cross legged, phone in my hand, staring through the carpet fibers for way longer than I should, instead of eating, or sleeping, or “doing” much of anything that could pull me out of the spiral.

As uncomfortable as it makes me, I find I’m most myself when I’m doing something, or when I’m with someone, or when I’m solving some problem at work. It’s like my personality and mental energy finally has something to “digest” or “reflect” or “riff” off of.

I’m like some crack addict looking for a high. It’s just that I get high off of some pretty weird stuff compared to most people. Like Alan Watts lectures on YouTube. Or Terrence McKenna. Or whatever I happen to be in to intellectually.

And it’s not even the intellectual content that I crave, but the emotional, intuitive “sense” of the world that I get by learning new things. It’s like transmitting a painting through words, but the painting is the universe itself. Nevermind the individual word-colors and concept-brushstrokes. It’s the sense of INFJ World Building¬†that I’ve read about from Lauren Sapala’s book¬†The INFJ Writer.

That’s part of what makes the creative effort so difficult. I feel like a fiction writer in temperament that’s full of philosophy and non-fiction instead of other fiction. I’m not so interested in the nitty-gritty of the philosophies themselves as much as conveying to other people the sense of wonder and mystery and meaning that they give to me.

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