When I was in high school, an adult friend set up a mock interview for me. One of the questions that they asked was to describe myself in a word. “Introvert.” They were all quite surprised. That was not how I struck them in any of the way I carried myself that day. The word has had a few different definitions, as I actually learned what the word means. So, while it might actually still accurately describe me, there are other words that more aptly label me. ( I discovered the term “Ambivert” last summer. I really like it.)
When I got home that day, I told my momma about the interview. She told me to try out a few other words. The one I settled on was “Adventurous.” Which really worked for me until the psych guy for the UMC told me I was only into “conventional adventures.” Not the kind that take personal risks. (What about Kenya? Meh.) He said some other things that I disagreed with also, but he passed me, so, who am I to complain.
The women in my family have gotten one other definition. I have come to embrace it as something that excuses some things I do. Because we really are not nice people. We try, my mother and I more so than my sister. (Sis has said that her friends say that she is the nicest mean person you will meet.) I argue that part of mine is because I still can’t read people. (see earlier post). But the other part is pure unadulterated joy in the art of being “Snarky.” It matches my quasi dark, sarcastic sense of humor. My old roommate called me out on it, because she couldn’t take my snark anymore. But my family shows affection by the amount of snark that we think you should be able to take.
Be all this as it may be, but I still desire to remain elusively indefinable.