On Being an INFJ

I've always known that when I teach, I learn. And right now I am teaching a course called Adult Development and Learning Assessment. Among the tasks assigned is to take the Keirsey Temperament Sorter in the Please Understand Me book. I did it, and my students are in the process of doing the same.

Here are some things I've learned about my character and temperament type. Perhaps a nail has been hit on a head. I think I'm beginning to understand why life has often felt so difficult for me and why I often feel alone and misunderstood. (I didn't even understand myself.)

Introverted-Intuitive-Feeling-Judging (INFJ)
As an INFJ, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you take things in primarily via intuition. Your secondary mode is external, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit with your personal value system.

Deeper Explanations of Interesting Stuff
INFJs are gentle, caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals. Artistic and creative, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities. Only one percent of the population has an INFJ Personality Type, making it the most rare of all the types.

INFJs place great importance on having things orderly and systematic in their outer world. They put a lot of energy into identifying the best system for getting things done, and constantly define and re-define the priorities in their lives. On the other hand, INFJs operate within themselves on an intuitive basis which is entirely spontaneous. They know things intuitively, without being able to pinpoint why, and without detailed knowledge of the subject at hand. They are usually right, and they usually know it. Consequently, INFJs put a tremendous amount of faith into their instincts and intuitions. This is something of a conflict between the inner and outer worlds, and may result in the INFJ not being as organized as other Judging types tend to be. Or we may see some signs of disarray in an otherwise orderly tendency, such as a consistently messy desk.

INFJs have uncanny insight into people and situations. They get "feelings" about things and intuitively understand them. As an extreme example, some INFJs report experiences of a psychic nature, such as getting strong feelings about there being a problem with a loved one, and discovering later that they were in a car accident. This is the sort of thing that other types may scorn and scoff at, and INFJs themselves do not really understand their intuition at a level which can be verbalized. Consequently, most INFJs are protective of their inner selves, sharing only what they choose to share when they choose to share it. They are deep, complex individuals, who are quite private and typically difficult to understand. INFJs hold back part of themselves, and can be secretive.

But the INFJ is as genuinely warm as they are complex. INFJs hold a special place in the heart of people who they are close to, who are able to see their special gifts and depth of caring. INFJs are concerned for people's feelings, and try to be gentle to avoid hurting anyone. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. Situations which are charged with conflict may drive the normally peaceful INFJ into a state of agitation or charged anger. They may tend to internalize conflict into their bodies, and experience health problems when under a lot of stress.

Because the INFJ has such strong intuitive capabilities, they trust their own instincts above all else. This may result in an INFJ stubborness and tendency to ignore other people's opinions. They believe that they're right. On the other hand, INFJs are perfectionists who doubt that they are living up to their full potential. INFJs are rarely at complete peace with themselves - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them. They believe in constant growth, and don't often take time to revel in their accomplishments. They have strong value systems, and need to live their lives in accordance with what they feel is right. In deference to the Feeling aspect of their personalities, INFJs are in some ways gentle and easy going. Conversely, they have very high expectations of themselves, and frequently of their families. They don't believe in compromising their ideals.

INFJ is a natural nurturer; patient, devoted and protective. They make loving parents and usually have strong bonds with their offspring. They have high expectations of their children, and push them to be the best that they can be. This can sometimes manifest itself in the INFJ being hard-nosed and stubborn. But generally, children of an INFJ get devoted and sincere parental guidance, combined with deep caring.

In the workplace, the INFJ usually shows up in areas where they can be creative and somewhat independent. They have a natural affinity for art, and many excel in the sciences, where they make use of their intuition. INFJs can also be found in service-oriented professions. They are not good at dealing with minutia or very detailed tasks. The INFJ will either avoid such things, or else go to the other extreme and become enveloped in the details to the extent that they can no longer see the big picture. An INFJ who has gone the route of becoming meticulous about details may be highly critical of other individuals who are not.

The INFJ individual is gifted in ways that other types are not. Life is not necessarily easy for the INFJ, but they are capable of great depth of feeling and personal achievement.


Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging
by Joe Butt

Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward such a role -- are there for the cause, not for personal glory or political power.

INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress. INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ.
"There's something rotten in Denmark." Accurately suspicious about others' motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool any of the time. Though affable and sympathetic to most, INFJs are selective about their friends. Such a friendship is a symbiotic bond that transcends mere words.

INFJs have a knack for fluency in language and facility in communication. In addition, nonverbal sensitivity enables the INFJ to know and be known by others intimately.
Writing, counseling, public service and even politics are areas where INFJs frequently find their niche.

Functional Analysis

Introverted iNtuition
Introverted intuitives, INFJs enjoy a greater clarity of perception of inner, unconscious processes than all but their INTJ cousins. Just as SP types commune with the object and "live in the here and now" of the physical world, INFJs readily grasp the hidden psychological stimuli behind the more observable dynamics of behavior and affect. Their amazing ability to deduce the inner workings of the mind, will and emotions of others gives INFJs their reputation as prophets and seers. Unlike the confining, routinizing nature of introverted sensing, introverted intuition frees this type to act insightfully and spontaneously as unique solutions arise on an event by event basis.

Extraverted Feeling
Extraverted feeling, the auxiliary deciding function, expresses a range of emotion and opinions of, for and about people. INFJs, like many other FJ types, find themselves caught between the desire to express their wealth of feelings and moral conclusions about the actions and attitudes of others, and the awareness of the consequences of unbridled candor. Some vent the attending emotions in private, to trusted allies. Such confidants are chosen with care, for INFJs are well aware of the treachery that can reside in the hearts of mortals. This particular combination of introverted intuition and extraverted feeling provides INFJs with the raw material from which perceptive counselors are shaped.

Introverted Thinking
The INFJ's thinking is introverted, turned toward the subject. Perhaps it is when the INFJ's thinking function is operative that he is most aloof. A comrade might surmise that such detachment signals a disillusionment, that she has also been found lacking by the sardonic eye of this one who plumbs the depths of the human spirit. Experience suggests that such distancing is merely an indication that the seer is hard at work and focusing energy into this less efficient tertiary function.

Extraverted Sensing
INFJs are twice blessed with clarity of vision, both internal and external. Just as they possess inner vision which is drawn to the forms of the unconscious, they also have external sensing perception which readily takes hold of worldly objects. Sensing, however, is the weakest of the INFJ's arsenal and the most vulnerable. INFJs, like their fellow intuitives, may be so absorbed in intuitive perceiving that they become oblivious to physical reality.


Introverted iNtuiting Feeling Judging
by Marina Margaret Heiss

INFJs are distinguished by both their complexity of character and the unusual range and depth of their talents. Strongly humanitarian in outlook, INFJs tend to be idealists, and because of their J preference for closure and completion, they are generally "doers" as well as dreamers. This rare combination of vision and practicality often results in INFJs taking a disproportionate amount of responsibility in the various causes to which so many of them seem to be drawn.

INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts, who can only be emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few from among their long-term friends, family, or obvious "soul mates." While instinctively courting the personal and organizational demands continually made upon them by others, at intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood -- particularly by those who have little experience with this rare type.

Due in part to the unique perspective produced by this alternation between detachment and involvement in the lives of the people around them, INFJs may well have the clearest insights of all the types into the motivations of others, for good and for evil. The most important contributing factor to this uncanny gift, however, are the empathic abilities often found in Fs, which seem to be especially heightened in the INFJ type (possibly by the dominance of the introverted N function).

This empathy can serve as a classic example of the two-edged nature of certain INFJ talents, as it can be strong enough to cause discomfort or pain in negative or stressful situations. More explicit inner conflicts are also not uncommon in INFJs; it is possible to speculate that the causes for some of these may lie in the specific combinations of preferences which define this complex type. For instance, there can sometimes be a "tug-of-war" between NF vision and idealism and the J practicality that urges compromise for the sake of achieving the highest priority goals. And the I and J combination, while perhaps enhancing self-awareness, may make it difficult for INFJs to articulate their deepest and most convoluted feelings.

Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills. Since in addition they often possess a strong personal charisma, INFJs are generally well-suited to the "inspirational" professions such as teaching (especially in higher education) and religious leadership. Psychology and counseling are other obvious choices, but overall, INFJs can be exceptionally difficult to pigeonhole by their career paths. Perhaps the best example of this occurs in the technical fields. Many INFJs perceive themselves at a disadvantage when dealing with the mystique and formality of "hard logic", and in academic terms this may cause a tendency to gravitate towards the liberal arts rather than the sciences. However, the significant minority of INFJs who do pursue studies and careers in the latter areas tend to be as successful as their T counterparts, as it is *iNtuition* -- the dominant function for the INFJ type -- which governs the ability to understand abstract theory and implement it creatively.

In their own way, INFJs are just as much "systems builders" as are INTJs; the difference lies in that most INFJ "systems" are founded on human beings and human values, rather than information and technology. Their systems may for these reasons be conceptually "blurrier" than analogous NT ones, harder to measure in strict numerical terms, and easier to take for granted -- yet it is these same underlying reasons which make the resulting contributions to society so vital and profound.

On Wombs and Helicopters

I've reconnected with a friend of many years standing who shares my Chicago upbringing but in startlingly different ways. She is a mother herself, and so she asked me about Kyle's heart transplant, both the anticipation of it and the actuality of it, from a mother's perspective.

During the five and a half-year wait for Kyle's new heart, as he grew progressively weaker, my greatest terror was anticipating the moment when they removed his heart, followed by a vision of an empty chest when he had no heart. Of course, I wouldn't be there when it happened, but I have a vivid, photographic-like imagination. The heart they would remove and discard had been nurtured and grown in my womb. How could I trust a new heart that came from who knew where to do what I, his mother, had done? As I was relaying this to my friend, I was telling her that all the fears I had -- rational or irrational -- came before he actually had his transplant.

And then I told her about the helicopter.

The night of Kyle's transplant at UCLA Medical Center, a group of us were sitting in the designated family waiting room when the phone rang. A call from the operating room alerted us that surgeons were beginning the process of opening Kyle's chest. This was the frightfully anxious moment I'd been waiting in dread of. I took that moment as an excuse to go into movement, to head outside onto the patio in front of the hospital and call my mother in Florida to give her an update.

What I didn't know was that the call from the OR came at that moment because, at that moment, they'd received word from the helicopter pilot about how close he was to landing. They were preparing Kyle so the transfer of hearts could be quick, but they would not remove Kyle's heart until the new one arrived; the surgeon would inspect it to ensure its quality and that it had survived the trip, healthy and ready to go.

So there I was, cell phone in hand, when this bright light from the dark sky began traveling toward me. It was like a slowly moving star. At first I had no idea what it was, but it was the brightest and biggest thing in the sky. Then I picked up the faintest whir of blades, and as it came closer and got louder, I knew it was "the" helicopter. I stood, transfixed, a wave of prayer sweeping over me, I know not from where (well, yes, I probably do), but the words weren't formed consciously. It was all praise, spewing forth like a fountain. I don't know if I verbalized aloud or if it was all internal.

I waited without moving until the helicopter landed, delivered the precious package we'd been waiting for, and took off again, this time veering and zooming, no need to be so flat, straight, and steady. And thus that night began with me absorbed in comfort and reassurance.

My friend continued to press me a bit. She was trying to envision how you deal with this kind of helplessness as a mother. She asked me what I would say to the donor's mother, if I could, besides the obvious "thank you." And so I began to think about something I hadn't thought about before and as I thought, the helicopter became a womb -- one that was delivering life to my son, as I had done 30-some years earlier. But this womb was being protected by the donor's mother, who had given life to him, as she and her family were now giving to Kyle. What would I -- what could I -- possibly say to her?

Perhaps something like this: "I cannot begin to imagine the unbearable pain of losing your child; it has been my starkest terror for going on 20 years. You not only had to say good-bye, you now have to contend with a harsh world where he's not there to light you up with a smile or a press of his hand. I think I understand that this hole he just left will never be filled by anyone or anything. Life will go on, but he won't be there. And out of all that pain, when nobody would expect you to be able to think straight, you chose to do something for someone else, something so powerful and life-affirming for another family that words are inadequate to express the depth and breadth of it.

"Please know that my son will take very good care of your son's heart, that its beat is allowing my son not only to go on living but to thrive -- something that hasn't been true for him since he was a teenager still in high school. Your son has given my son his young adulthood back. Your son has delivered a healthy husband to a new wife. Your son has allowed my son not only to hope for a future, but to have one. Your son's gift to my son will go on giving because my son is committed to making a difference in the lives of those facing cancer and organ transplant. Because of your family's gift to our family, your son will forever be remembered by more people than, right now, it is possible to imagine."

On Long-Lasting Marriage

It was Valentine's Day a couple of days ago, and on my Facebook status, I posted this:

Met my Valentine when I was a college freshman. Married him at 19, the summer after my sophomore year (he'd just graduated). Two adult children and two wee grandchildren later, we're still together. And I'm very happy about that. A life filled with shared memories, some joyous, some very difficult, but always together. You can't buy that anywhere.

One of the first responses I received was from someone a generation younger than me, who I had known a very long time. She believed that our (my husband's and my) marriage was a "Notebook"-style love that she has only seen in my generation, not her own. (Side note: "Notebook" is a somewhat cheesy, sentimental film based on an equally cheesy, sentimental book by Nicholas Sparks, but certainly the theme of love that does not wane from youth into old age and I-can't-live-without-you-if-you-die-I'll-have-to-die-too is there.)

I thought about her response for several hours, then wrote this back to her:

I hate to disillusion you, but I think there's no such thing as "Notebook"-worthy love except in the movies. Love is hard, and it takes commitment, and it's not always romantic, and it has its periods of dark anger and wishing life were different, sometimes bordering on a willingness to betray and back away -- and then you pray, and you try to start over with each other, but meanwhile the shared history helps cement you as does the love you share for your children, as do financial realities, as do the vows you made before God. And you press forward, and you get it done, and you look back many years later and are grateful it turned out this way, that you did indeed hang in there.

Oh...and getting away together on a vacation, fabulous! A rejuvenation, a renewal, positive happy shared energy. See the world with your enduring friend. You'll never regret it. It will keep you perpetually falling in love all over again. Laugh until you snort, and be amazed together, stand in awe together. Greet new cultures and new people (and new food) with grateful open-heartedness. All of these things bind you into a long-lasting couple.

I don't know any profound secrets. All I know is that it's easier to walk holding hands than not.

Does anyone else have thoughts on how to make a marriage long lasting, or on how not to kill each other before you get the opportunity to reflect back?

On Wassup

It has been over a month since I have posted on my blog. My last post was after our trip to Kona, Hawaii, to be face-to-face with our son's Ironman pursuit. Since then I've spent a delightful week in the English Lake District with a side trip to Edinburgh, Scotland, as my birthday present from my husband. I have also been to Florida, with my siblings, to help our mother relocate to an assisted living apartment (she had been in her own home all this time, alone, and she is now 91 years old).

Joy and difficulty. Those two ends of a spectrum seem to characterize much of life.

So wassup? I wish I knew.

I'm progressively more tired, and six times of long-distance traveling (close to 30,000 air miles) in as many weeks didn't help. At times I feel a little trapped by my pulmonary hypertension, not because I'm not usually a homebody (I am) but because of the exhaustion that comes with the disease. I feel alone and am alone most of the time. But I've been a solitary sort of individual most of my life. However, now when the occasion presents itself to see a good friend, something much rarer than it ever was, I get a little giddy with excitement and probably go overboard with talking and sharing.

Honesty matters to me. It always has, but now it's like never before. I don't have time or energy to deal with bullsh**. My pulmonary artery is three times normal size, my blood therefore is not carrying enough oxygen, and my heart therefore is working extra hard to try to compensate. On the Monday after Thanksgiving, I am having yet another eye surgery (this will be my 7th, the 4th on my right eye). Yes, I'm feeling a little depressed and a tad overwhelmed. Losing good health is a hard thing.

Do I have much to be thankful for? Oh my yes! I have a husband who loves me and who looks forward to coming home to me every night. I have two beautiful grandchildren in their adorable preschool years whose development is amazing to watch (almost as if I've never been through it before). I have friends from one coast to the other and many points in between.

So I guess that's wassup: joy and difficulty. Nothing new -- really -- under the sun.

On Ironman

Some folks will tell you that what it takes to be an Ironman is the ability to swim 2.4 miles in the open ocean, ride 112 miles on an unshaded asphalt trail in the blaring sun, and run 26.2 miles -- a full marathon -- in total darkness after you've completed the first two. All three, of course, in the same day and, in fact, in the span of 17 hours, from 7:00a to midnight. That, they say, is what it takes to be called an Ironman.

I have just returned from Kona, Hawaii, where the Ironman 2010 World Championship was held. My son was participating in the Ironman for the second time. He has had four separate cancer diagnoses, a hip and shoulder replacement, and a heart transplant.

The first time he competed (in 2009), he was pulled off the course because the 2.4-mile swim took him seven (7!) seconds too long. Not only must you complete all three events in 17 hours, each individual event is individually timed.

So my beloved son, who faces down all odds, trained and trained and trained. This time when he competed he shaved 20 minutes off of his swim time, emerged from the ocean to a cheering crowd, showered and changed, and headed off on his bike. All of this we could see. The joy was overwhelming. So was the anxiety about what still lay ahead of him.

The rest of it we didn't, couldn't, see.

He got about to mile four on his bike (with 108 miles still to go) when he gave in to wooziness, sat down by the side of the road, and waited for the dizziness to pass. As he sat there, two medics approached him. They took his vitals and found his blood pressure to be 80 over 60 (when it is usually 130 over 85). They laid him down with his feet up for ten minutes, then took his blood pressure reading again. Nothing had changed. He went prone for another five minutes, during which they debated with him about whether or not he should leave the course and give up his 2010 goal.

He didn't want to. They did want him to.

Eventually he was given no choice. He was pulled off the course. We found him in the medical tent, receiving intravenous hydration.

He is supremely disappointed. He feels he has disappointed others. He is sorry for the ruckus. He devoutly wishes the end had been different.

I think he was an Ironman before he even entered the race in 2009, and that he would go back and face it all down again in 2010 just reinforces that truth.

On Coping

Someone recently told me that "coping clocks" run out. She meant that, psychologically speaking, some of us simply can't handle anymore than we're already handling.

I know this to be untrue. All of us can handle more than we're already handling. Of course, most of us don't think so. Or we don't want to think so.

We not only can handle more, we will have to. The troubles of life are unforeseeable, but they will come -- often in downpours. And we will have no choice but to cope.

That doesn't mean we can't allow ourselves the occasional meltdown. A good cry might be evidence of terror in the clutch of darkness, but it also adds to our innate, God-given (and God-driven) ability to cope.

A friend sent me this Buddhist prayer, which he always carries with him. From now on, I'm carrying it too.

May all things be happy and at their ease. May they be joyous and live in safety. All beings, whether weak or strong -- in high, middle, and low realms of existence, small or great, visible or invisible, near or far away, born or to be born -- may all beings be happy and at their ease. Let none deceive another, or despise any being in any state; let none by anger or ill-will wish harm to another. Even as a mother watches over and protects her child, her only child, so with boundless mind should one cherish all living beings, radiating friendliness over the entire world, above, below and all around without limits; so let [us] cultivate a boundless goodwill towards the entire world, uncramped, free from ill-will or enmity.

On Worry

I have worries. I have cares. I have concerns weighing me down. Don't you? Don't we all?

I recently discovered this Chinese proverb some of my friends tell me they were raised on:  "That the birds of worry and care fly over you head, this you cannot change, but that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent."

I have many friends who help keep the nests at bay. I am so grateful for that.

But my mother was (and still is) a total worrier. There is nothing that doesn't worry her, including the exact time I will arrive when I travel to Florida to see her. God help us all if my plane is overdue. Not only will those waiting with her hear nothing else but her worry about it, when I arrive, I will hear it too...for the next couple of hours. If I am driving her somewhere in her neighborhood, or for that matter anyone is, we have to move to the lefthand turn lane at a certain juncture or her anxiety becomes extreme. She all but grabs the arm that is on the steering wheel. Granted, she is 91 as I write this so some of her behavior is understood. But these are recent examples of a lifetime of worrying that infected my whole family.

And what does worry get her or any of us? Fear. It gets us fear. And most times we become fearful of something that is not likely to or never will happen.

I remember once staying overnight at a girlfriend's house when I was very young. Her father was out of town, but her mother was there. At some point during the night the mother heard a sound outside the house (might have been a car driving by or an owl on patrol). Before I knew it, we girls were up too. She armed us all with heavy pots and pans, and we waited in silence by the backdoor for a long terrifying interlude. This is what my friend lived with all of the time, and in some sense, I did too.

I am the mother of a son who has been ill countless times: four separate cancer diagnoses, hip and shoulder replacement surgery, pacemaker/defibrillator surgery (several times, once because of a manufacturer recall), huge doses of chemotherapy, huge doses of radiation, a bone marrow transplant, and almost four years ago, a heart transplant. Throughout everything, I have worried about his ability to withstand it all and survive. (He did and has.) If he died, I have worried about how I would continue to live a life that didn't include him. (That hasn't happened.)

To me, this kind of anxiety, especially from a mother, is understandable. But I should do my best to keep my concern from infecting those around me. This is a goal rather than an outcome. I certainly am a long way from having perfected that part of me. But at least I know it's a good thing to try to do.

Now, I find it impossible to sweat the small stuff. If I chose to worry about the little moments of my life as well as the big, I would live in a perpetual swill of unremitting, stomach-churning, throat-constricted anxiety. To what end? It certainly wouldn't make my life longer or happier. And it wouldn't make people around me more genuinely glad to be with me.

It's a life lesson. I wish I could transmit it to my mother, but so far, on that score, I've failed.