25 Struggles Only ENFPs Will Understand | Thought Catalog

25 Struggles Only ENFPs Will Understand | Thought Catalog.

This article is so me it’s frightening. I had no idea I was this difficult to live with, but my husband, thankfully, has figured out my key to happiness. Let me ramble until I figure it out myself then poke a couple holes so I think some more. AND I LOVE people but LOVE to be alone too. Oh boy, if this doesn’t describe me, nothing does.

 

Thirty Something

Okay, so I’ve been working diligently to amass my work for the first display of my art on June 20th. When I was asked to do this, I’d painted this and that, but focused on writing. Having compiled a book of essays, poems, and commentary, I felt satiated enough to move into another genre. I picked up a paintbrush, charcoal, pens, pencils and sheets of fantastica.

From the Unitarian Universalist song, "You got to do when the Spirit says do!"

From the Unitarian Universalist song, “You got to do when the Spirit says do!”

Thirty-One Two pieces later I’m thinking, oh crap! Is this enough? Is this how I’m wishing to be marketed? Is it good enough? Will they like it? Love it? Hate it? Feel ambivalent towards it? Will my art, the creation of my brain from the inspirations that walk over it (like a Jamie Lopez styled painting that just drew itself while I wrote this) satisfy anyone?

You know what? I refuse to care. I wash my hands of the anxieties that are cropping up as the witching hour approaches. This means I’m doing something my mind and body consider to be questionable, dangerous, and that is why I need to do it. Even if I fail (and these thoughts are occurring to me) I’m going to do so with a collective work that glistens with the sweat of my effort. That reflect my love and light into the world in such a way that I feel nearly a sexual satisfaction of bringing these colors to life.

I have to keep reminding myself that I’m doing this for me. Yeah, it’s great if other people take a shine to what I do and even more spectacular when they want to give me money to do what I love. I mean, really. Who wouldn’t want to follow a dream, a hope, an idea all the way down the rabbit hole to see how far it goes? I suppose that’s what makes others comment my oddities to me as if I don’t exist because they’re right. I don’t.

I exist when I allow myself to be consumed by the world where art and breathing are synonymous. I am when I am so engulfed in what I’m doing I forget that I’m human. I become another entity. I love that feeling more as I embrace the whirlwind affair that is dragging me into deeper fields of challenge. But then, I come up for air in this physical world to find people doing what people do.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the people I know. I mean, I REALLY love them. They fill my heart with Rod Stewart songs (“Have I told you lately”) and promises of Moulin Rouge (“Come what may”). My head dances with inspiration from their very existence and I touch the promises of their truth with such delicate breaths that it makes me blush with the intimacy they allow me. It’s not even sexual. It’s like hanging out at someone’s house and everything they do, say, or ask is exactly the most perfect thing they could do, say, or ask of you. And with that, it’s a reciprocation of undulating commentary that ebbs, flows, waxes, wanes, drifts, waves, and hurricanes around in mystical walkways. Each word, phrase, or nothing is vibrant with understanding, love, compassion, and sometimes anger, disappointment, intolerance. Human stuff.

What I describe is not always how it is, it’s just what it’s felt like since I heard the words utter from my lips, “I am an artist.” And so I am.

Tuatha Dea inspired, "Blessed Be, Y'all"

Tuatha Dea inspired, “Blessed Be, Y’all”

Stars in her eyes

Reaching for the stars

Reaching for the stars

When I awakened from the dreamless deep,

I was shocked to realize that my eyes could not see.

I had no way of finding upon which path to set my feet,

because all I’d ever done was walk around in sleep.

But then I found the very stars of which you, longing, write,

and I followed them into the sky; into the sacred night.

Schadenfreude

I stand by love as the solution. When we can look upon one another with the same compassion we wish for ourselves, then we can begin healing our broken world together.

Mare Martell

As I’m scrolling through my newsfeed each day, I noticed an unusually high ratio of hate. Hate Justin Beiber? That’s okay. Hate Westboro Baptist Church? That’s okay. How about Democrats? Republicans? Atheists? Gays? Women? Men? Goldfish? That’s okay too.

I am all about personal freedom. I believe that every person is entitled to their own opinions, beliefs, and ways of doing things. What I don’t understand is why the hate of such ridiculous things? If you want to hate something, what about poverty? Hunger? Rape? Acid Attacks? War? Human Rights Violations?

These are things that should be hated. These are things that should not be tolerated, but we do. We allow it because it isn’t in our own backyard. It’s okay because it isn’t directly affecting most of us, thankfully, on a daily basis. We turn our face away because we believe that people, all people, should be like we…

View original post 383 more words

Rape Culture – Cover Your Eyes

A must read for anyone that has blood in their veins. Yes, that means you too.

While you were sleeping

little-girl-crying-39-resized

Rape culture is when I was six, and my brother punched my two front teeth out. Instead of reprimanding him, my mother said “Stefanie, what did you do to provoke him?” When my only defense was my mother whispering in my ear, “Honey, ignore him. Don’t rile him up. He just wants a reaction.” As if it was my sole purpose, the reason six-year-old me existed, was to not rile up my brother. It’s starts when we’re six, and ends when we grow up assuming the natural state of a man is a predator, and I must walk on eggshells, as to not “rile him up.” Right, mom?

Rape culture is when through casual dinner conversation, my father says that women who get raped are asking for it. He says, “I see them on the streets of New York City, with their short skirts and heavy makeup. Asking for it.”…

View original post 1,034 more words

PTSD: A Lost Loved Cousin

I heard taps play over picnic grass graves.

It felt good to be remembered kindly for a day

No words of hate shouted, no reminders to my face

The forgiveness of sacrifice, seen in a different way.

I wanted to go like my brothers before me

I wanted to serve with my life, if necessary.

I wanted to be the hero that my father and my uncles are

I wanted to accept their mantle, to be their shining star.

But all I could say when I returned from that place

Was, “No more. I feel like such a disaster, such a disgrace.”

I lived in terror that tore me apart, shredded me inside out.

I couldn’t look in the mirror without hating my every doubt.

I couldn’t reach out for help, because who would understand?

That I didn’t even feel real, that I wasn’t even a man.

I was a soldier without a war.

I was lost in my inner storm.

Although I lost my life, not on the battle-field

My family still stood and by my graveside kneeled.

I heard taps play over picnic green grass graves.

It felt good to be remembered kindly, if even for a day.

Homogenized television

“We ARE that change, together; me and you.”
I finished this observation with this phrase. I want to share this again because South Carolina’s Governor is abusing her office in the name of one way or no way. It’s shameful that in this time of transition in our lives, in our communities, in our country, and in the world that nobody is standing up and saying STOP!

Ladies, Gentlemen, and anyone else of reasonable mind, WE are those people whom must stand against the ridiculous oppression of our brothers and sisters no matter whether you’re for them or not. It’s not for you to judge, it’s for you to love.

Before you think, “Yeah, but you’re judging her.” I am not. I’m questioning her motives, her vision for the entire state of South Carolina, and her disregard of the rights of citizens that live in that state that are granted by the United States Constitution, the Constitution of the state of South Carolina, and the right as a human being to be who they are as it harms no other. She is doing harm. I am calling her on it.

Mare Martell

At the store we stopped by on our way to my Mama-in-law’s, I saw a diverse snapshot of people. An inter-racial gay couple who were both very tall, an Italian mother and her daughter, a few white employees, a mixture of humans milling about the aisles selecting last minute purchases for their Thanksgiving feasts. Every person I saw greeted me with smiles and warm wishes which I firmly returned to them. I felt so alive with happiness that I wished I could hug everyone I saw. I even commented this to Ben (my husband) as we got into our car and finished our journey. I felt amazing.

My beautiful in-laws are avid fans of local station news/sports/weather and keep the litany in the background all day long. The same newscast at noon gets a tad of refresher before being the 6 o’clock news and then the 11PM news. In between…

View original post 1,028 more words