Since the start of December, I’ve been at two extremes: flitting around like a nervous flea or making dents in the family room sofa cushions.
It’s been a weird couple of months.
During the typical prep weeks before Christmas, we unexpectedly raced to California and back. We pressed hard, making the 4,000-plus-mile trip in seven days. Most of it was pleasant, even inspirational, as we wound up into the tree-covered mountains and down to the windswept deserts with strange, prehistoric rock formations, cacti, and Joshua trees. True, the tire blowout in flat, scrubby Oklahoma as the sun was setting was scary. And my low vision from quickly worsening cataracts made night driving nerve-wracking, but those were only two nights.
We’d left our large paper master calendar covered with events for when we returned: cataract surgery the day after we returned; picking up our granddaughter in Michigan; a ninetieth birthday party– woo-hoo!–for my mom. We checked them all off without a hitch.
Then we got sick. Headaches, fever, cough, body aches–the whole flu thing. The one that lasts for weeks. At least for me.
Mostly, I slept. When my bones began to ache, I propped pillows behind myself and read. But that was it. During the first week, I didn’t venture out of my bedroom for three days straight! Thankfully, my husband was well enough to stock the mini fridge in the bedroom with water bottles and bring me broth. For three weeks, I wistfully scheduled events with family and friends…and then cancelled them. I didn’t have the energy, and who wants to spread something so tenacious to their besties? We never did have our larger family Christmas gathering.
But I suffered in more than one way. My mind wouldn’t turn off. I had lists and lists of things I wanted to get accomplished.
See, I’m a seven. Or so I’ve learned in the last couple of years.
Historically, I’ve been an enthusiastic supporter of personality types, particularly as they apply to writing and student behavior. I’m an INTJ through and through. But after taking an Enneagram personality test, my enthusiasm for such labels has waned.
My Enneagram results stated that I’m a flitter. That’s my synonym. The formal name is “The Enthusiast.” It means I like to try all things, bouncing from one hobby or interest to another. In fact, when I first read the titles, it’s the one I predicted my sister was, filled with so much energy and enthusiasm and fun. Not me. I’m a quiet, sensible plodder type.
Sevens have a sense of adventure and curiosity. They look for enjoyment and excitement, often spontaneously and with flexibility. Sevens lean toward pleasure and thrills, avoiding pain or emotional depth. They have high energy and are creative, motivated by pleasure, and love conversation. So say the experts.
At first read, I was insulted by the description. After all, flitting about seeking fun times seems superficial, shallow, fickle, hedonistic. As if I didn’t have the capacity to write a complete sentence, much less stick with a pastime or schedule. I took umbrage at that!
Why, I’d gotten up at 5 AM to complete a novel manuscript every morning for at least a year while holding down a teaching job. I’d stuck with the fifteen-week Master Gardeners’course that my sister dragged me into during the pandemic! I’d planned and taught a school-year-long monthly professional development course for teachers. Heck, I’d been a closet fan of Trixie Belden books for fifty years! Call that fickle!
Compared to my husband, I’m as spontaneous as the sunrise, and I can lie inert in bed for days once a year, wallowing in some kind of pain. Hadn’t I proven that with the flu?
All that downtime, coughing and aching, gave me time to ponder my seven-ness more. I’ll admit, I started to reconsider.
I do jump at any chance I get to travel. My garden loses its appeal in July. I have a newly filled bag of embroidery transfers for dishtowels and printed cross-stitch bookmarks beside the couch, awaiting my return. Whenever I’m in my office, my oil painting and intaglio printing supplies call to me, begging for some attention. I’ve been browsing the RV trader website again, and I’ve been talking a lot about getting out of this winter deepfreeze.
Thankfully, my energy is coming back: the whiteboard with my weekly goals and events is messy again. I confess that I’m making up now for missing the holiday goodies, and I haven’t had a good cry or pout in several months.
If I can ignore the pain of the rude descriptors, maybe I am a 7 after all!
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