What Is Right With Me?
A discussion with my psychologist uncle
*This is not really a post about Korea or travel in general, but more an abridged transcription of a conversation I had with my uncle. More self discovery and realizational. I just wanted to write it down before I forgot.*
Today, after a dinner of iced soybean noodles (basically buckwheat noodles in a thick, creamy and slightly grainy soybean broth), I customarily retreated to the room my aunt was lending me and my brother for the week to just melt away the time and my brain on Reddit as I had been for the past few days.
Unlike my weeklong trip to Japan, whose shorter timeframe necessitated a frantic trip across the nation in an attempt to cram as much as would fit in seven days, staying in Korea for three times that amount afforded me a more leisurely pace. I no longer have to wake up at seven a.m. to keep up with my early bird aunt’s breakfast preparations, so half the day is now spent lounging around the house, occasionally venturing forth from my wood and plastic confines for sustenance. I’ve sort of unceremoniously usurped my cousin’s workspace for my own needs, while she’s withdrawn to her own room.
About five hours into my Reddit binge session, I felt the need to stretch my legs, having exhausted all the blue links on the site I was interested in. I went out to poke around and entered the kitchen where my mom and uncle were (surprise surprise) swapping stories about their children like trading cards.
“Khangin, we were just talking about you! Come here and sit down.” My mom beckoned, leaping over and pushing me into a seat. “It’s time for your session.”
She suggested my uncle perform a tarot card reading on me to gauge my future circumstances. Doubtlessly she was dreaming about my worldly successes or maybe simply me finding happiness, but I declined. Tarots aren’t really worth the time, I told her. And besides, I’m afraid knowing a negative event in my future might change it like those weird self fulfilling prophesies.
My uncle gently laughed and said, “Tarot cards won’t work on him. He understands how they work. Tarot readings are only really affective on those who want to believe, like they do magic.”
The Myers-Briggs test was mentioned by my mother who told my uncle I was purportedly an INTJ. It wasn’t any serious test, just a free internet one, I said. Shouldn’t take the results too seriously.
I had entered a weird personality test phase last year with my roommates, taking them and trying to figure out what kind of person I was. Looking back, it seemed, at least for me, to stem from the fact that entering college as a freshman provided an opportunity to find out and develop a sense of one’s true self. Thus, it was only natural to seek out a framework to place oneself and feel comfortable in. Though in general, categorizing oneself is considered unnecessary, it still feels nice to know one is part of a group that shares experiences. Basically to know that you are understood.
I flipped between INFJ and INTJ from time to time whilst periodically retaking the test for fun, but the latest tests had consistently resulted in INTJ. Satisfied with the result, I settled on that as who I was. First mistake, as my uncle would point out.
Praise
My mom provided the impetus for the discussion, willing to say what I could or would not. She started off by complaining that I could not take compliments, which I agree with. “People always tell me you’re intelligent or hard working-”
“But I’m not any of those!” I interjected automatically. I winced.
I really dislike compliments, mostly because I find them to be shallow, complimenting the wrong thing I was hoping for, or struggle to see their genuineness. I convince myself that there are hidden meanings, that I don’t deserve the praise, and disallow myself to feel the emotion behind the words. Rather, I end up only analyzing the words themselves for a hidden meaning or potential slight. Paranoid, I know.
My uncle told me that I had very different standards as to what was considered praiseworthy. He suggested I was a perfectionist, obsessed with order, tidying up his or her workspace, and forming frameworks for any information acquired. And therefore had extremely high standards in general. He went on to explain that comparing external praise to my own standards would only end in dissatisfaction.
What was the solution? Check your ego because you have a rather large one (ouch). You might think you’re being humble by refusing praise, but in reality, your ego is refusing to accept what you believe is unworthy praise, and instead you should recognize the strength and humility it took the other party to acknowledge another’s finer points and have the courage to tell them. “Thank them with a genuine smile and words. Continue the conversation even. If someone praises you, it may sometimes be lip service, but in another sense that person is saying ‘I find you interesting, I wish to talk to you’. To rebuff their praise only hurts and confuses them so simply take it in stride. It is not arrogance to accept a compliment.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, never having known why I actually disliked praise,and so I quietly sat there processing what he had told me. I suppose I countered most praise with self-deprecation because I didn’t think the praise was worth acknowledging on a deeper level. It wasn’t the sort of praise I actually sought.
My uncle went on to say that to people like myself, praise would never really hit my sweet spot. Instead of merely praising what could be seen on the surface, I would only be content with people who understood my reasoning, the realm I found most important. Also, that I tended to become better friends and made more meaningful connections with those same people since I considered understanding my thoughts as equivalent with truly knowing me as a person.
Things were starting to clearly make sense. That’s why I chose architecture I realized. It wasn’t just “design is cool and fun” as I had initially thought. It was because on a deeper level, architecture was thought made manifest, and it provided me an opportunity to share my thoughts in a concrete and creative fashion. I found the deepest satisfaction when someone would comment and understand the decisions I had made for a particular design, and brushed off or ignored compliments about how “cool” it looked, because to me, looking cool didn’t mean anything to me since it didn’t address what I really sought. The highest implicit praise arose when someone understood my design and the reasons behind it, as if they read my thoughts, without the need for extensive explanation and hand holding, but through simple visual observation. The fact that I achieved such visual clarity really made me feel like I could do anything. And conversely, made me feel like a failure when my mom struggled to see the details in my final project for the semester and merely said, “Nice job, I’m so proud of you.” I failed my primary objective, to clearly articulate my imagination.
I wondered how many of my friends were those sorts of people who could really say they knew me, and I realized not very many. I asked my uncle about this and he said, “it’s extremely difficult to find someone willing to spend the time to understand another’s thought process, and the fact that you only really value people who can tells me that your extended network of friends usually ends up shrinking after a while.”
Too true. Out of the nearly one hundred people I knew in high school, I only really stayed in touch with two. Even in college,after freshman year I haven’t truly branched out to make meaningful friendships beyond what I had already formed. In fact, the number of friendships I truly consider friends shrank.
My mom made a face and nodded at me. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him! All the people at church complimenting him about getting into Berkeley felt hurt when he would downplay his accomplishments.” she said. “You don’t want compliments, but then go on to say that you lack self-esteem or hate yourself. What do you really want?”
I thought I had figured out what I really wanted by now, especially after two years of college, but not in this context. Self-fulfillment? That sounded so selfish. Being surrounded by loved ones? True, if somewhat cliche. Instead I said what I really thought.
“I don’t know.”
Do You Feel Me?
My uncle smiled, or rather just maintained his perpetual smile, and began telling an allegory. “When a baby is born, he does not think. Instead he feels. He feels the need to pee, and so he pees. He feels the need to sleep, and so he sleeps. He feels the need to eat, and so he cries. A baby knows not what he cries for, but ultimately his sustenance comes in the form of milk, specifically provided by his mother. He did not know what he wanted until he encountered his mother. In the same way, you are the infant” he said, not as an insult, “stuck inside the realm of your head, unable to articulate your wants and knowing not what you are wanting until you encounter something else. That something else is other people. You have spent so much time in your head thinking and thinking, that you end up not feeling, unaware of the people around you and unaware of what others can teach you about yourself. You feel confident you have all the answers to external matters, but don’t really know anything about yourself.
Ouch. I nodded but grimaced inside. There was a lull in the conversation and I went to get my notebook, eager to write down what I had heard.
“What do you think I’ve been feeling as I’ve been telling you this stuff?” my uncle asked me.
“I’m not entirely sure.” I hesitated for a few seconds, knowing full well I sort of sucked at gauging emotion, especially the emotion of adults. “You speak so calmly, I can’t get a sense of your emotion. I want to say you felt a sense of duty or clinical disinterest as a psychiatrist.”
He shook his head. “No. Quite the opposite in fact. What I felt was hope. Hope that you will take my advice and end up an amazing individual. And love, for a family member. Why else would do this for free? You know I usually charge $150 an hour for stuff like this.” he chuckled.
“Tell me, do you like small talk?”
“No, not really. I don’t see the point. I sort of enjoy quiet more. It’s why I like people watching, studying at cafes and letting the ambiance wash over. No one directly talking to me. I just like to observe.” I was scribbling in my notebook.
“Small talk is actually highly important. It is a constituent unit by which small emotions are shared between individuals. One learns about another’s habits, disposition, social skills, and most importantly another’s character, through small talk. You write down what I say, and so you filter my words through thought, but not through emotion. You mentioned yesterday that on a backpacking trip your friend expressed his displeasure at the silence surrounding your meal and that you responded by explaining how you were content with the silence and his presence.” I nodded. “Well, you see, you are so comfortable in your own mind that even when alone you are never really bored. You have your thoughts to entertain you. That’s the “I” and “T” in your test results. You’re very independent and find pleasure in solving things by yourself. On the other hand your friend looked outwards for entertainment and he found you, so he reached out to you, albeit obliquely, but he found you nonetheless.”
He went on to say that I should welcome the talk, instead of shunning it, and that as an introvert I didn’t necessarily have to talk as much as my conversational partner, but just keep the conversation going with relevant questions. This is one thing that I was already doing, but put in the context of what he mentioned before, it seemed all the more important to continue and develop my talking skills. I was sort of itching to write what he was saying down, but he was on a roll, so I just listened.
“What makes you happy?” He asked next.
I responded I wasn’t very sure. He supposed it related back to the baby allegory. My uncle suggested that I do something physical. Sports, dance, swimming, anything really. “People who think too much tend not to take an interest in the physical realm, and so end up having health problems later on, like your grandfather. Trust me, exercise will make you feel better and cause you to meet more people. It will also sharpen your people skills.”
I was going to interject that my people skills were fine, but I held my tongue. I thought I might as well hear out his advice to the fullest.
“Do you have any questions so far?” I couldn’t say that I did.
“It’s not that you don’t. In fact, I’m sure you have hundreds just roiling around in your head right now, but don’t know what to ask and are instead trying to answer them yourself. Again, this is the importance of small talk, so don’t discount it as meaningless frivolity. It allows you to practice asking questions and engage in some easy banter.
Take your brother for example. He’s most likely ISFJ, “Feeling”. He doesn’t think like you, but takes everything at face value. If you insult him, he’s sad. If you compliment him immediately afterwards, his face lights up and he forgets you ever insulted him. He lives a simple life, completely in the moment, but don’t confuse that for lack of intelligence. He’s amazing at discerning emotion and character.”
I had to admit, my uncle was pretty spot on. My brother is always asking if and why someone is happy/mad/annoyed at him almost immediately, constantly concerned with the other’s emotions towards him.
As virtual opposites and five years apart, there’s hardly anything my brother and I share, but I’m his brother and I should try to make amends. Apparently I was the root of his social anxiety, because he had taken to heart the names I called him for much of his life. To me, he never thought or had a rational string of thoughts in him, a being living by instinct, more animal than human, but I guess I should understand that he has certain skills that far outpace what I have. I should stop being such a dick first of all.
I’m All Right
“You have amazing potential”, my uncle told me. “Despite being an introvert who obtains energy by being with his thoughts, if you can come to accept external praise for what it’s worth and stop deflecting the positive energy people’s care and attention provide you, you can supplement your normal social energy source (the way i recharge my social batteries is by taking some time to myself) by having a large and wide ranging support network.”
My uncle went on to conclude that my mistake was revealed when I refused to do the tarot reading. I had said that “I didn’t want to limit my reality by exposing myself to the possibilities” and in the same vein I had effectively locked myself into the INTJ tropes, exposed to who I could be and so limited who I would be, so certain that I fit into the mold and unwilling to think otherwise. “Don’t limit yourself to those characteristics. They are merely general guidelines. Broad strokes that try to paint as many people as possible. It is impossible to understand the nuances of even a single human. Don’t feel like you can’t improve yourself simply because a test said you were one thing and not another.” I should cultivate relations on a wide spectrum of intimacy, not just what I found to be meaningful to myself.
I know this all sounded completely conceited, all this talk about never getting the right kind of praise, how I’m alone in my thoughts and being a “speshul snowflake”, but that’s who I am I suppose. I realized that until now, I had been denying I was in fact pretty egotistical. Explains my lack of effort in maintaining friendships, wanting praise, wishing to be alone, being hurt when not invited to something, etc. No point in denying I derive a lot of self worth from seeing my thoughts validated. Society, especially American society, places emphasis on success as stemming from empathy, an innate sense of self worth and social extroversion, and my self realization is that I’m not that type of person. It long made me feel inherently inferior, my thoughts and actions differing, uncomfortable and unwilling to accept that yes, I may be a little self-centered, and yes, I may not have a strong sense of self-worth. Cognitive dissonance to the max.
My severe weakness lies in my lack of interpersonal relations. I can’t wait for others to take the time to delve into my head since it’ll hardly ever happen. It’s true. I suck at giving gifts, which involves knowing the other person on a deeper level and I hardly ever initiate conversations or “hangouts”, content in joining whatever is organized by another. Instead, I have to trek out and make an effort to maintain connections with others, even if it’s through banter and chatter. David Foster Wallace’s commencement speech then struck me. This is what being well-adjusted meant. Knowing who you truly are and despite that realization, consciously choosing to “adjust” yourself. Realizing that if one’s default state is to be self centered then the only choice is to change the way you process the external world, because your internal world won’t change as easily.
I just find all of this the slightest bit amusing. I’m so internally unbalanced and biased towards myself, yet I’m a libra too, known for balance and evenness. I suffered this hatred of myself because I could never come to terms with the fact that I wanted validation through other people. What I want is usually considered to be selfish, unnecessary and wrong. But to me, validation is an important aspect of my self worth, especially in the eyes of other people, since it assures my restless thoughts. As my uncle said, by cultivating broader relations with others, I can come to understand my needs and desires better, instead of being surrounded in an echo chamber of my own thoughts or what my uncle called, “being trapped in a golden cage. Nice to look at from the inside, but in the end, a cage is still a cage.”
