Maybe it’s an ENFP thing?

I’m standing outside my 2.5 year old daughter’s bedroom last night after FAILING to get her to sleep at a decent hour … again. She is bouncing on her bed giggling. It is nearly 10pm.

I am weak, she is strong.

I stand at the top of my stairs and I holler for my Brit. He trudges up the stairs and asks as usual “need water? Does she need more milk?” “No more MILK” I kind of pretend yell. “We shouldn’t still be giving her milk at bedtime (to pacify her) we should have cracked that ages ago.
Do we suck at parenting? How come we never do anything right”!!

I’m constantly aware that the list of things I’m not doing that I am supposed to be doing is long.

The list of things that I want to be doing is even longer.

“Normal people have financial advisors” I say. “What?” says my Brit.

“Normal people, clever people, they have financial advisors”.

“Oh” says the Brit.

“When am I going to figure out what I’m supposed to do with my life?” I say.

“You’ve got a great job” says my Brit.

“Yeah but it’s a job” I say. “I never wanted to be normal; I told you that from the beginning”. What am I going to do that proves I’m abnormal?”

“Umm” says my Brit.

“How about just be happy with your life, he says”. “You have a great life”.

“I am happy with my life”, I say. “I say thank you in my head like a million times a day, like it’s a compulsion”. “Somehow gratitude doesn’t trump relentless and restless ambition and a never ending stream of creative possibilities”, I say. “This isn’t about happy vs. not happy. This is about achieving what I’m supposed to achieve – about not evening knowing what I’m supposed to achieve. When am I going to figure that out?”
“I think you need some sleep baby” says my Brit.

“That won’t help” I say, “I’ll just dream about the problem”.

“Oh” says the Brit. “Night night baby, we’ll figure it out tomorrow”

“Yeah…but then I’ll have to figure it out again on Thursday”.

“Maybe it’s an ENFP thing”, I say.

“A what?” Says my Brit…

“Never mind”, I say. “It’s just a stupid box someone put me in. I don’t even like boxes.

Then why do you keep trying to find the right one? Says my Brit.

“That’s definitely an ENFP thing”, I say.

“A what?” says my Brit…

“Never mind, night night baby”. I say.