My roommate does CLPS studies for her Cognitive Science class. I like to imagine a cohort of scientists taping wires to her head in a laboratory overflowing with beakers so that they can develop highly advanced mind reading technology. In reality, it seems to be a lot of memory exercises about shapes and phrases. In one study, she had to memorize the list of words “socks, guitar, moon.” She said she was able to remember it because of me.
I laughed because these words capture my essence so effortlessly, as if the cohort of scientists had actually read my mind somehow. My feet are always covered in cotton reproductions of famous paintings or skiing penguins. I have a repertoire of approximately ten and a half songs on my acoustic. And I will reliably point out the moon to anyone who will listen because it is so beautiful ohmygod.
This got me thinking about what else I’m known for. Maybe desserts, I thought, since I’m always either making, eating or talking about cake; or birds, since my friend always texts me bird memes; or grandma, since I wrote this article. I began to think about the word clouds my middle school Computer Literacy teacher had us make. I wondered–what would the word cloud for my personality look like? And wouldn’t it be convenient if we could just send our personalities to the printer and hand them out to people we meet so they could get to know us instantly?
In a way, I already do distill my personality in communicable ways. After all, isn’t that what the “tag yourself” trend on social media is all about? Why else would I claim to be the dejected plastic water bottle in the background of a picture of two cuddling bunnies, if not to suggest that it speaks volumes about me, my attitude toward physical affection and my strong sense of self deprecation?
The same goes for astrology. Though I don’t know much about the zodiac, I ascribe my stubbornness to the Taurus rearing its horns inside of me, or a particularly emotional episode to my ascending Cancer sign. I attribute my maternal instincts to being an ISFJ on the Myers Briggs scale. And yes, I’m a Hufflepuff (or maybe a Raven-puff, if that’s allowed) and I’m very cool with being underrated and badger-like. I could go on, categorizing myself as a dog or a cat person (I’m more a bunny gal) or placing myself within the dystopian paradigms of the latest YA franchise (what the hell is “Abnegation” anyway?). And don’t get me started on personality quizzes, of which I am most certainly an expert. Because of them, I know what kind of bird I am (Piping Plover), what Jane Austen heroine I emulate (Anne Elliot) and what flavor of lip balm I am the human embodiment of (Vanilla, apparently).
I doubt that the quizzes on the Teen Nick website I took in my youth/today are scientifically sound, but at least they give me a digestible point of reference for my personality (and not just because there’s a quiz called “What Holiday Treat Are You”). Personality categorizations only mean something when they’re accompanied by reflection, like in what ways I identify as an introvert or how I actually see myself as more of a Mint Lip Gloss because I’m sweet, refreshing and a breath of fresh air and where does this quiz get off calling me Vanilla??!
I digress.
So when I say that I am “socks, guitar, moon” (as I plan to do from now on whenever anybody asks me to describe myself), I am really saying that I refuse to let my feet conform with society’s gym sock standard, that I love music more than most things, that I will never shut up about nature, or space, or other beautiful things, and that I like knowing myself, and having people know me, in this way.
Images via Sarah Clapp.