There’s nothing like sitting with a hot cup of tea and a good book. A real one, one with actual pages to turn. Maybe I’m weird, but I love having an actual, physical book to read. It changes the whole experience.
I’ve been so sad at times about how much society and culture has lost with the progression of time. I very much appreciate modern technology, but sometimes I wish we could have both, rather than having to choose one life or another.
I’m not entirely sure what my point is here. I guess, I want some small sensory comforts that have been seemingly lost, and I fear the day when these small comforts are gone forever.
Maybe it’s in part from my inferior Se. I tend to get so overwhelmed at times, and I need a way to use and validate the Se, while also not doing anything that pushes me too far to become overwhelming. And that’s probably the HSP part of me.
Sometimes I feel like I have so many moving pieces, so many different parts of myself. And I’m not sure who I am anymore. Maybe I never did. Isn’t that the stereotypical INFJ question: Who am I?
The thing is, we will never know. We will never be able to fully quantify what or who we are. Because we are many things, not just one thing, as comforting as being one thing may sometimes sound. But we, as humans, are always in flux, always in motion, always moving from one point in time to another. And with that movement, things change, we change.
We will never be a single definable thing. Names and labels might help some, but even the best of labels still can’t encompass or quantify all we truly are.
So, for now, I will enjoy just sitting back with these pages in my hands, the words to enjoy. Even if only for a moment, even if they drift from the page and into my mind, or the other way around, because words always leave an impact. They always leave a trace of where they’ve been, and what and who they’ve touched. Words themselves may be forgotten, but their substance, their life, will continue to live on in our hearts and in our minds.