 | I think I forgot who I am. I’m a sucker for armchair psychology (apologies to my readers who are actually in the mental health profession) so when I heard about the Enneagram a while back I decided to analyze myself. |
I went to a church retreat where we learned about the Enneagram and had to self-sort ourselves into one of the nine types. I kept getting Type 5--the
Thinker/Investigater, which I wasn’t totally happy with since Osama bin Laden and Timothy McVeigh were also 5’s. (With Miers-Briggs I got Eleanor Roosevelt and Ghandi.) 5’s are innovative, secretive, cerebral types. I was looking for something a little artsier, a little more easy-going. Something free-spirited! Still, 5 kept coming back like a stray cat that you shouldn’t have fed.
Recently, I decided to try it again, with the help of the Internet. I know, researching psychology online is about as sensible as researching medical issues online, but it was just for kicks, you know? I took a quiz, and the questions were really hard. They kept making me chose answers that I didn’t like, that weren’t nuanced enough. I got Type 2--the Helper, which I immediately rejected. Caring, people-pleasing, possessive, not worthy unless I’m needed by others? I don’t think so. My love for my fellow man is great in an abstract, ideological way, but I don’t want to actually meet him.
Then I realized the problem: most of the questions use the term “others.” If “others” are my family, especially my children, I’ll kill/die for them. My piano students probably fell in this category, too. Most of them. Also people I meet who have a true need, like that nun with a fear of flying who cried and clung to my hand from JFK to SFO while I prayed for her and mumbled soothing things. For five hours. If “others” are the garlic-breathed guy who wants to share my armrest on the plane and tell me about his sciatica, I can do without. So, I took the test again. Twice.
The first retake I took as Mom-Yvonne: the one who loves others, does things for others, ensures the safety and growth of others, keeps order and routine. Mom-Yvonne got Type 1: orderly, helpful, calm--the Reformer. Mom-Yvonne is principled, controlled, a perfectionist. Not too flattering, but I could see where that result came from. (Am I truly that un-fun? Psychology stinks.)
Next, I took the test trying to think of what I really wanted, not what was needed of me: Fun-Yvonne! This time, I got Type 9---the Peacemaker. That can’t be right. Fun-Yvonne is receptive, reassuring, agreeable? That’s better than 1 or 2, but I was really hoping for somebody spontaneous, independent, daring, creative--maybe a 4 or a 7? I really think I used to be.
What happened to that girl who once accidentally ate a bug because she was singing while riding a motorcycle with no helmet? (Hey, it was in Taiwan--helmets were optional.) What happened to the girl who rode a train to Munich with her art major friend and two really nice guys from Africa, sleeping in a church basement and eating street food? What happened to the girl who stayed up all night to watch the sunrise over the Pacific? (Again, Taiwan). What happened to skinny-dipping, drinking Chocolate Clowns, and losing my return ticket on the back side of the Iron Curtain?
Well, first of all, thank God I survived all that. It didn’t seem quite so reckless at the time.
Did years of hard work, responsibility, and caution turn me into a Type 1? Did I turn into a Type 1 out of necessity, or is that my true nature? Am I really a Type 9 now, or am I just too tired to argue anymore?
I am by no means blaming my current loss of self-awareness on motherhood or piano teaching. Anybody can emerge from an engrossing period of work, study, or caring for others, and realize that the experience has changed them in unknown ways.
(Also, don’t think I’m too upset about this--it’s a privilege to have the time and space to think about how I want to live and how I want to be. I’m just bewildered.)
I guess I’ll just see how it goes from here. With no job, no elder care, two kids away at college and only one at home (and he’s quite an adventurous guy) I can loosen up a little. Hopefully, I can keep the kindness and caring of Mom-Yvonne, cultivate the laid-back ease of Fun-Yvonne, and combine them with that reckless girl who skinny-dipped and got lost.
It’s worth a try.
What type are you? Have you changed as your circumstances change? How about we pick a type and live like that one? Can you do that?
PREVIOUS: Horned Melon Cucumber
NEXT: Watchman Pumpkin
Thinker/Investigater, which I wasn’t totally happy with since Osama bin Laden and Timothy McVeigh were also 5’s. (With Miers-Briggs I got Eleanor Roosevelt and Ghandi.) 5’s are innovative, secretive, cerebral types. I was looking for something a little artsier, a little more easy-going. Something free-spirited! Still, 5 kept coming back like a stray cat that you shouldn’t have fed.
Recently, I decided to try it again, with the help of the Internet. I know, researching psychology online is about as sensible as researching medical issues online, but it was just for kicks, you know? I took a quiz, and the questions were really hard. They kept making me chose answers that I didn’t like, that weren’t nuanced enough. I got Type 2--the Helper, which I immediately rejected. Caring, people-pleasing, possessive, not worthy unless I’m needed by others? I don’t think so. My love for my fellow man is great in an abstract, ideological way, but I don’t want to actually meet him.
Then I realized the problem: most of the questions use the term “others.” If “others” are my family, especially my children, I’ll kill/die for them. My piano students probably fell in this category, too. Most of them. Also people I meet who have a true need, like that nun with a fear of flying who cried and clung to my hand from JFK to SFO while I prayed for her and mumbled soothing things. For five hours. If “others” are the garlic-breathed guy who wants to share my armrest on the plane and tell me about his sciatica, I can do without. So, I took the test again. Twice.
The first retake I took as Mom-Yvonne: the one who loves others, does things for others, ensures the safety and growth of others, keeps order and routine. Mom-Yvonne got Type 1: orderly, helpful, calm--the Reformer. Mom-Yvonne is principled, controlled, a perfectionist. Not too flattering, but I could see where that result came from. (Am I truly that un-fun? Psychology stinks.)
Next, I took the test trying to think of what I really wanted, not what was needed of me: Fun-Yvonne! This time, I got Type 9---the Peacemaker. That can’t be right. Fun-Yvonne is receptive, reassuring, agreeable? That’s better than 1 or 2, but I was really hoping for somebody spontaneous, independent, daring, creative--maybe a 4 or a 7? I really think I used to be.
What happened to that girl who once accidentally ate a bug because she was singing while riding a motorcycle with no helmet? (Hey, it was in Taiwan--helmets were optional.) What happened to the girl who rode a train to Munich with her art major friend and two really nice guys from Africa, sleeping in a church basement and eating street food? What happened to the girl who stayed up all night to watch the sunrise over the Pacific? (Again, Taiwan). What happened to skinny-dipping, drinking Chocolate Clowns, and losing my return ticket on the back side of the Iron Curtain?
Well, first of all, thank God I survived all that. It didn’t seem quite so reckless at the time.
Did years of hard work, responsibility, and caution turn me into a Type 1? Did I turn into a Type 1 out of necessity, or is that my true nature? Am I really a Type 9 now, or am I just too tired to argue anymore?
I am by no means blaming my current loss of self-awareness on motherhood or piano teaching. Anybody can emerge from an engrossing period of work, study, or caring for others, and realize that the experience has changed them in unknown ways.
(Also, don’t think I’m too upset about this--it’s a privilege to have the time and space to think about how I want to live and how I want to be. I’m just bewildered.)
I guess I’ll just see how it goes from here. With no job, no elder care, two kids away at college and only one at home (and he’s quite an adventurous guy) I can loosen up a little. Hopefully, I can keep the kindness and caring of Mom-Yvonne, cultivate the laid-back ease of Fun-Yvonne, and combine them with that reckless girl who skinny-dipped and got lost.
It’s worth a try.
What type are you? Have you changed as your circumstances change? How about we pick a type and live like that one? Can you do that?
PREVIOUS: Horned Melon Cucumber
NEXT: Watchman Pumpkin
