INFP Introverts: The 64-Color Box

“I think modern society—especially in the United States—has a set of biases that make it difficult for sensitive men to learn about, and come to terms with, their sensitivity. Apart from those who simply ignore the possibility that they might be a HSM, I think there are also significant numbers who may be aware of their sensitivity, but are hesitant or afraid that anyone else might find out. Sadly, I get the sense that most HS men live lives of quiet suffering—many choosing to ‘narcoticize’ the pain of not fitting in with alcohol, drugs, or other addictions. Maybe you’re an HSM, reading these words. And maybe you’ll recognize yourself, somewhere in all this. In retrospect, I can now look at many ‘choice points’ in my life where my being a HSM had an influence on the…”

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“In a line-up that included one of the biggest jerks I’ve ever worked with in the music world, Bo Diddley was an unassuming breath-of-fresh-air. He was the only one who came alone, without even a family member or a manager. He was kind, polite and quiet—quiet until he hit the stage. His was probably one of the biggest transformations between on and off-stage personas that I’ve ever seen.”*

“When I first became famous, it really freaked me out. You see, I’m a very different person onstage—very different. I have a job to do and I ain’t got time to be throwing the bull. I decided right from the beginning of my career I’d give it all I got, put on the most outrageous show I could. I’m two people, really. Up there, I’m Bo Diddley. At home, I’m Ellas McDaniel, the same plain, straight dude all the time.” —Bo Diddley

There are those who, on hearing that the tintype photographer John A. Coffer lives without car, phone or plumbing, might call him a Luddite. This, he insists, is not true — for one thing, he has a computer. He even has a computer room. The walls are bales of hay, the roof is tin, and the power source is a 75-watt solar panel outside in the pasture. Mr. Coffer, who lives on a 48-acre farm in the Finger Lakes, built his computer room in March. It’s lasted nicely through heavy rains and if it falls apart, Mr. Coffer says, no matter: He’s invested all of $15 in it.

The big question: why does Mr. Coffer choose to live like this? “Modern living was always too fast for me,” he said. “I was not good at 20th-century living.”

“I used to do all that, go to singles bars,” Mr. Coffer said. “It was cheap. It just wasn’t fulfilling. I don’t want to live up to other people’s expectations. I own this land, 50 acres free and clear. I’ve got a lot of money in the bank. I’ve been in galleries in New York. And yet girls go, ‘He doesn’t have a phone.’ ” Mr. Coffer rarely curses, but speaking about women, he does. They’ll chase down a guy 10 feet in debt over his head, working at some dead-end job, who’s got a phone and a car, he said angrily.

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“People always feel compelled to sum you up, to presume that they have you and can describe you. But there are many stories inside of me and a lot I want to achieve outside of one flat note.” —H. Ledger

“I’m shy. People get confused. They think, as an actor you can get up and be confident on the screen. Why aren’t you like this in normal life? Why can’t you act in your social life? Because I can’t!” —H. Ledger

I don’t fit in any boxes!
Everybody seems to have a place but me.
By Cary Tennis, salon.com

Dear Cary,

I wish I could fit into boxes. You know, the kind that people put each other in to understand each other. The kind that help people relate and find common ground. The kind that help people make friends and know where to look for friends.

But every time I try to get into one, the people inside say I don’t fit.

I tried the “married” box, but everyone in it said, “You’re 26 and you’ve been married for five years? Why the hell’d you do that?”

I tried the “parents” box, but they said, “Sure, you can hang out with us. So you’re a dad? That’s great. Let’s talk about our fancy new houses and 401Ks.”

I even tried the “employed” box, but everyone said, “Oh, you and your fancy Ph.D. are way too smart for us. Why don’t you go play with all of your intellectual buddies.”

The last time I tried the “guys” box, they said, “You look like you’re 16 and need a sandwich, dude. Go play some video games or something.” But I can’t help it. I’ve got a high metabolism and an aversion to dairy. And meat. And I like video games.

I even asked my wife if I could get into the “husband” box, and she told me that she thinks I’m a bit too goofy and abstract to be a real husband.

So I’m standing out here all alone, outside all of these boxes full of people, wondering who the hell am I and whose 40-year-old midlife crisis I’m about to have. Any ideas?

Out of the Box

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