Anonymous asked: As an INTJ, what's it like living in New York?

What an interesting question, anon! I’ve spent a few days trying to formulate an answer that doesn’t conflate “INTJ” with “socially awkward weirdo” or “nerd,” and I think I failed at that part, but I will try to answer it. And I sadly live in Florida now, but I can speak from the perspective of my 2 years living in the city.

The one really bad thing about living in NYC as an INTJ: The crowds and noise levels took some getting used to, and even after two years there I still had days where I just wanted to go home and hide under a blanket. I think New Yorkers in general are very respectful of one another’s personal space, but there’s only so respectful you can be on the 1 at Times Square when it’s 5:30 p.m. on a Wednesday.

But despite the crowds, I generally felt both very safe and very anonymous in NYC. I like the feeling of being anonymous; I think this is probably an INTJ thing. I liked being able to go somewhere without having to worry about awkward run-ins with various acquaintances (something that happens to me a lot in Current College Town, Florida).

Socially, NYC is the best city I’ve ever lived in. I’ve heard people complain about how hard it is to make friends in NYC, but that was not my experience at all. Part of this was luck; I did NaNoWriMo a few months after I moved to the city and I met a lot of great people through that. Almost all of my social circle in NYC was/is composed of people I met either directly through NaNo or through other NaNo people (and I’ve heard other NYC NaNoers in my group of friends say the same thing).

My friend Amanda and I talked a few years ago about how NYC is a great city for nerds. You wouldn’t think it would be, but the great thing about NYC is that there are tons of groups for whatever activity you’re interested in, even stereotypically introverted activities—writing groups, book clubs knitting groups, etc. And I think precisely because it is such a big, impersonal city, people are always looking to expand their social circles in ways that people in smaller cities aren’t. I went to MeetUps regularly for a year or so in my current city—which in terms of population is hardly a small town—and nothing really came of them. I’ve had a really hard time making friends here, which was not at all the case in NYC.

TLDR: Living in NYC as an INTJ is better than you might think.


Announcement: Henceforth my tumblr will be a Prince George Appreciation Blog.



(via kyrie-anne)

I don’t really believe in cars, but I drive one every day and I love that it gets me places and makes life so much easier and faster and I don’t know what I would do without it.
Amy Poehler, being a genius about women who don’t believe in feminism. (via meredithhaggerty)

(via spinstrs)

"February 14: Masturbate gloomily."

"February 14: Masturbate gloomily."

There’s a common sentiment that goes, “Nobody can make you feel bad without your permission” – generally trotted out when someone’s been hurt by a mean thing that someone said.

The idea, I believe, is that we are all rational, robot-like beings who can control our emotions – and thus if we get upset by someone’s assholic statements, we have chosen to be upset. We could have shrugged it off instead.

Problem is, people don’t work that way.

Ferrett Steinmetz, “The Myth of “Nobody Can Make You Feel Bad Without Your Permission”“

Because God help you if you write your depressive post when you’re actually depressed, and uncertain if you’re going to make it. That worries people. You don’t want to write about yourself in a way that gets your audience concerned about you, because then you’ll just have told a bunch of people that maybe you’re not okay. And what will they do then? How will they rest until you’re in a stable place?

That’s rude. Button that shit up, depressive person.

Ferrett Steinmetz, “How to Be a Good Depressive Citizen”
As a writer, I try to write about everything. But it’s hard to write about depression. For one, there’s the fear that the minute you say, “I’m suffering from depression,” people will look at you funny. That they will nod at you with wincing, constipated face, place a hand on your arm and say, with all good intent, “How are you?” And your pain will war with your desire to be “normal” and not looked at funny by sympathetic people at parties. So you will answer, “Fine, thanks” while you’ll think of all the things you could say: “Partly cloudy with a strong chance of rain later?” “Mostly okay except for that silent sobbing I did on the F train this afternoon which frightened the school children.” “Well, I’m okay now but around 10 PM I could be drinking from a seemingly bottomless cup of self-loathing, so stick around if you’re into that sort of thing.” You do not want to be labeled “That Depressed Person,” which was not a show on ABC.
Libba Bray, “Miles and Miles of No-Man’s Land”
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