To Go. to move on a course : proceed. to move out of or away from a place expressed or implied : leave, depart. to take a certain course or follow a certain procedure. to pass by means of a process like journeying

 7:00 pm - Aug 19, 2010

Out of My Hands

I have a love-hate relationship with August.

Love: It usually gets warmest in August. This means sparkly mornings that smell like sweet dew and flowers and that are filled with the cooing of morning doves. This also means warm nights with the windows open and the fans on and the crickets to sing me to sleep. I love all the good things that summer has saved for last, like last minute vacations. I love that August is, for the most part, still summer.

Hate: When August ends, so does summer. And I want to cry just looking at that sentence.

Summer is the best time of year. Every bad thing from September to April can be fixed with May to August. It is carefree, spontaneous, giggly, open, honest, real, warm, gentle, and just so...golden.

Summer is perfect. Even when it isn't.

****

A year and a month ago, my life was as close to perfect as I could dream up. For so many reasons. In fact, perfect was so prefect that a part of me absolutely knew it was going to end soon. I could feel it. It had to.

Part of me was right.

The car crash was first. It was the marble that started the domino tumble. I still think about it. Almost everyday. I remember the moment I realized impact was unavoidable, that the other car wasn't going to stop the way I thought it would...that I wasn't going to keep going the way I thought I would. Next, I remember turning. Only I wasn't turning anything. I was being turned without my permission. Turned in a direction I didn't really want to be going, until finally, I hit the wall and stopped. Somewhere in all that I screamed. Just once. Quietly. Not so much a scream as a cry. I cried out to no one in the moment when my life stopped being in my hands any more. Later, I walked away with a few insignificant scratches, a useless car, and a broken perfect.

The rest of the fall is harder to pin point, a jumble of lots of things. Lots of sad things. Things that should have been expected. Things I never saw coming (because I wouldn't look). Things that broke my heart. Things that made me stronger. Things I may not recognize or appreciate for a very long time. Not even until heaven. Things I can't really talk about. Not even with myself.

****

Summer as I live it now is not the perfect as I lived it then. I kept going. So did life. Some things are better. Some are still kicking my trash. It's a process. I feel older now. Not the older you feel the first time you go for a drive by yourself just because you can. This is the kind of older that comes from dealing with things far beyond your maturity level. The kind of older you swear you'll never let your kids feel because, to be honest, it's scary as hell. 

I don't why it's happening to me now. I don't know why it refuses to end. I've sort of just stopped worrying about that part. For a year I have been stuck in that moment where my life got taken out of my hands and spun out of my control. The moment where I cried out to no one. But it wasn't to no one. God knows. He heard me the first time and every time since. My life may not be in my control but that doesn't mean it's out of control. He knows why this is happening, and that's good enough for me. I trust him. Really. I do. Even though I kind of desperately wish He'd hurry up and bring perfect back to visit for a while. I need a vacation. And I like to drive. Until then I'll try to enjoy watching from the passenger's seat. 

Everything is going to be okay. Everything is under control.

I Wish I Knew Now, What I knew Then

I found this copy of a newspaper column I wrote for my high school paper a week before graduation. Oddly enough, what I wrote to my peers a year ago is exactly what I needed to be reminded of now. Funny how that works. This was from the perspective of "before", of someone who was excited and optimistic about college, freedom, adulthood. Now, reading it from the perspective of "after", all I can say is that I wish I knew now what I knew then.

_________________

Every little girl knows the story of Cinderella. A beautiful but ill fated girl grows up living a hard and mostly cruel life. She is oppressed by the lazy, worldly and spiteful. To this, we all can relate in some way or another. Life is full of trials and at some point we all ask, “why me?” 

Still, though, everyone looks forward to the magic. That moment when we least expect it for our fairy god mother to pop up out of nowhere and offer us a free ticket out of our suffering. The glorious instant when our Prince Charming, our saving grace, steps up and presents us with the opportunity to experience three magic words: “Happily ever after.”

Cinderella caught a nice break. She had a rough start but an undeniably great finish. On the other hand, she was stuck waiting. Instead of stepping up and going out and getting her man she let herself be walked all over by jerks until all the forces of the universe miraculously came together to make her happy. 

Reality would frown on this fairy tale, because sadly, life is not so perfect. It cannot be divided simply into segments of bad, good, better, and best. 

Life is muddy. It is messy too. And no matter what we all wish for, no one is going to hand us a happy and easy life. 

The past four years, seniors have lived in a way that could be compared to Cinderella’s (sans the talking mice and pumpkin cars). 

We have worked hard through the ups and downs thrown at us by teachers, parents, and life in general. There were moments when everyone but us got everything we wanted, and at the point when we were about to give up, the lure of a happy ending was dangled tauntingly in front of us.

Graduation. We can almost taste it. 

Unfortunately, our story doesn’t end the second that diploma hits our hot little hands. 

Unlike Cinderella, we live on. The story of our lives doesn’t end, just the chapter. And the best part is, we get to write it. Fate will not control us; we are in charge of our happy ending.

Who knows where we will be in ten years? I don’t. I have hopes, of course, but there’s a lot of life to live between now and then.

Some of us are entering the real world with a plan, an outline of what’s next in our story; others are making it up as they go.

My advice to all is the same as Abraham Lincoln’s: “Whatever you are, be a good one.” 

And don’t forget, no book is endless. Robert Fulghum said this: "I’ve never understood people’s attitude about life. Just once, when someone calls and says, ‘My doctor just told me I have a limited time to live,’ I’d like to say, ‘You didn’t know?’"

So make the most of every moment. Live fully. Not fast or fabulous, but completely. 

As Ralph Waldo Emerson declared, “To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people, and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”

So, as you embark on a new chapter, aim to succeed! And when you walk next Thursday night remember Winston Churchill’s words, “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

Diamonds in the Rough

Homeless people are everywhere. No seriously, it’s like I can’t escape them. I keep seeing the man who wanders up and down University everyday with his shopping cart. That got the ball rolling. Since then, I have unintentionally had some sort of run in with homeless culture several times a week.

The book I’m reading described how the author got to know the beggars that lined his morning commute. I saw no fewer than seven straggly sign holders as I went about my day to day life. In church we discussed at length the best way we can help serve these individuals. I had a flash back to the movie The Soloist for an extended period while watching Sherlock Holmes at the dollar theater the other night.

Do you see what I’m getting at?

They. Are. Everywhere.

I think it’s an omen. Maybe it’s just me. Either way, I’m not sure what to do about these nameless neighbors.

Who knows where they come from, what their background is, and the kind of life they’ve lived? Are they are where they are because of some fault of their own or did life just…happen?



One of the many times that the course of my existence crossed with a reminder of theirs was subtle, just a song on the radio. But the lyrics were profound given my recent ponderings. They describe a cool night on a bridge. One man, perhaps someone like you or me, is considering jumping. The other, a homeless man, talks him down. He reminds him that in many ways, they are not so different.

“I’ve had my moments…/I was second to none/ Moments when I knew did what I thought I couldn’t do/…Looking at me now you might not know it, but I’ve had my moments.”

Like I said, I have no idea how to respond when I get stopped beside a person with their makeshift sign that describes the state of their current moment.

“Homeless.” “Will Work For Food.” “Vietnam Vet.” “Just a Little Bit Helps.” “Ninja’s Killed My Family…Need Tae Kwan Do Lessons.”

Behind every sign is a story. Maybe the person holding it is a scam artist or an addict. Or maybe not. Maybe my dollar will be spent on beer. Or maybe not. I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that I don’t want a starving person on my conscience. Especially when I think of the words of a friend, “I love bums. They’re so humble.”

Does this mean I always give something to the man outside my car window? No. In fact I hardly ever do. Doesn’t mean things can’t change. Perhaps I’ll keep some Mickey D’s gift cards in my wallet or something. Free food at its finest.

On a happier note let me tell you the best of my newly acquired homeless stories.
In Seattle, there is park along a place called Elliot Bay. The shoreline is protected by large, rough, unattractive granite blocks.

In the bushes sleeps a young man in a small tent. Half Mexican, half black, he refuses to be photographed. Says he’s in the witness protection program, or is afraid one of his wives will recognize him. He is proof that aliens landed and made a few mistakes. He even claimed to be the lovechild of Condoleezza Rice and the president of Mexico.

Out of these rocks he builds art. Started doing it out of boredom, but it caught on and now it’s how he makes a living. He builds something and knocks it down at the end of the day after reciting a poem to it or something.

He has something I don’t have, can’t have: The memory of his moment, when he looked at a pile of ruble and saw…art.

For Chelsea

"I just called to say I want you to come back home."

the message of this moment is so clear,

and is certain as the rising of the sun -

if your world is filled with darkness doubt or fear, 

just hold on, hold on, the light will come.

everyone who's ever tried and failed

stands much taller when the victory's won.

and those who've been in darkness for a while,

they kneel much longer when the light is come.

its a lesson that everyone of us must learn,

that the answers never come without a fight.

and when it seems you've struggled far too long,

just hold on, hold on, there will be light.

hold on. hold on.

the light will come.

hold on.

if you feel trapped inside a never ending night,

hold on if you've forgotten how it feels to feel the light,

hold on if you're half crazy thinking you're the only one 

who's afraid the light will never really come.

just hold on. 

hold on. 

the light will come. 

hold on. 

hold on.

the light will come.

you're not alone. 

even though right now you're on your own, 

you are loved in ways that can't be shown.

your needs are known. 

you're not alone.

and when you cry, 

you're just letting go of heart-ache deep inside.

for tomorrow there will be sunshine in the sky

and love close by.

you're not alone.

and i know that its not easy.

and i know that it won't last.

for the one who loves you more than me

is sending blessings fast.

because you're not alone. 

say it one more time, "i'm not alone."

even when its hard - 

and sometimes its hard to find the words - 

your prayers are always heard.

you're not alone.

the message of this moment is so clear,

and is certain as the rising of the sun.

if your world is filled with darkness doubt and fear, 

just hold on, hold on, the light will come.

the light will come. 

the light will come.

michael mclean

"hold on there will be light/you're not alone"

Hope Floats

Henry David Thoreau is arguably the world’s most infamous recluse. You know the guy. He spent long hours alone by a pond in Connecticut contemplating the universe and the warring habits of ants.

Knowing this, it is not a surprise that he was the one to observe, “The man who goes each day to the village to hear the latest news has not heard from himself in a long time.”

Good point, and in a thoroughly Thoreau way, profound. He implies that solitude is something rare and often avoided. He would not be alone in this declaration. Many, especially those of other nationalities, have commented on the American need to constantly be surrounded by distractions. I would argue the epidemic is worldwide.

In the old days, a distraction would have been other people, perhaps those gossiping down at the local watering hole. Today, a never ending barrage of technology offers an endless escape from the world. Cell phones, texting, MySpace, Facebook, AIM, television, radio iPods, etc, etc. Really, I could go on for ever.

The question then, is why do we choose to immerse, even drown ourselves, in a sea of microchips?

The answer: silence is painful. Silence forces us to listen. It does not allow for a retreat behind a shield of superficiality. We are left alone to our minds, our thoughts and our emotions in an utterly unadulterated fashion. Silence makes us vulnerable, and in a world that exalts the powerful, most are not comfortable with being vulnerable.

Often I feel as though a town council meeting is in session in my head. Different characters, with different personalities struggle for dominance in various situations tugging at a very small version of me in the direction of their choosing. The trouble is, all of the characters are pieces of me, representative of my hopes, logic, and desires. They are each powerful personalities and in my most vulnerable, raw moments I wonder, “Who’s in charge in there?”

I hear from myself plenty, thank you very much. In fact, every second my mind is buzzing as I shuffle through life.

If solitude is how often we hear from ourselves, then solitude is my norm. I bet it’s yours too. The escape, then, is not hiding in a corner, but seeking the company we long for in community.
Historians have proven that Thoreau walk the two miles from Walden Pond to Concord every day and often welcomed visitors to his sanctuary. Even Thoreau was lonely, which is why he eventually moved back to town.

Over 100 years after this, a duo of free thinkers presented their own ideas on solitude.

“And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared disturb the sound of silence.
‘Fools’, said I, ‘you do not know,
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you.’”

Simon and Garfunkel were onto something.

Solitude is not the same as loneliness. It is a boat floating in a sea of other possible companions. No man is an island and that’s why Thoreau wrote “Walden” down. He transcended solitude, existing alone, but was not lonely. He reached out to the world through his words.

And that’s why I write my words to you.
I am floating the boat of my life within speaking distance of yours.

Dancing With Myself

So this is actually a post from my English class blog: Freedom and Fire. 
But I liked it enough to post here. Enjoy.

___________________________________________________________________________





And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils.




There is a long road that runs along the middle of my part of town. I drive along this stretch nearly everyday when I am home. For three years it took me to school, last summer it took me to work, and it has taken me to church every Sunday since I was ten. If you look closely there are small brown signs that run along the side declaring it as a historic highway. In December, I was riding home from church gazing longingly at the warm, sunny skies above this road and the trees along next to it - trees that never seems to let go of their warm green lace even in the dead of winter. California. I dreaded leaving early the next morning, back to the slush and brown barren landscape of Utah. The smell of the warm wind wafted in through my open window and I was taken back to the countless summer days spend traveling back and forth along this road. Tilting my head back against the head rest, I spoke these thoughts allowed to know one in particular. After a moment, my dad half laughed, "Sarah, you love to live in the past."



I have been called many things, and could definitely add one or two adjectives of my own to the list. Nostalgic would be one of them. Today never seems to live up to yesterday. Most of the time it is a curse that keeps me from simply enjoying whatever moment of life I am living. But then there are the days when I need nothing more than to be somewhere else with no way of getting their. J.M. Barrie said that God gave us memories so that we could have roses in the Decembers of out lives. I think he and Wordsworth would have gotten along.



Poetry may seem like an awfully convoluted way to express a thought, but it is sentiments like those in I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud, that reach beyond intellectual perplexity and touch our hearts. Lines like these whisper to our souls, "You understand this one. You've been here before." 



I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.



Oscar Wilde shared a thought I often use a check point for how I'm doing. "To live," he said, "is the rarest thing in the world. Most people only exist." Each day passes us by full of moments that seem so insignificant, and yet will be the ones we treasure and long for later on. These moments are golden because they are a window into a more magical time then it seems we are currently in. Nostalgia indeed distracts from enjoying such moments when they stand before us, and although we might not appreciate what we have until it's gone, in a blissful moment of solitude, we are still able to dance.







Happy Thursday






                                                              

What I've Learned

About life in college

I'll keep working on that.

Happy Monday

Warm Fuzzies

What a great Sunday! For the first time since coming here I really enjoyed church with my student ward! Sacrament meeting was on my favorite subject (yay service!) and one of the speakers was a new young man from Ghana who has only been a member for just over a year. He said some of the funniest things. In his talk he referenced President Monson's experience getting the "warm fuzzies" from the primary kids, and admitted that he had to google what they were, and then when he was describing the culture shift from Ghana to the U.S. and the first experiences he had, even on the plane, he couldn't seem to find the word he wanted for what the people were like. He finally settled on weird, but we could all tell the word he wanted was white. So great. 


Sunday school's lesson was short. We had twenty minutes left to fill once he was done, but it was a good time for me to just sit and listen to comments from everyone else and I had so many impressions about how I should do things differently this semester. Small favors, I suppose.


The rest of the day continued in an equally awesome manner. Lots of new friends and spiritual thoughts that needed to be heard. Oh and then there was ward prayer. JC is now in charge and Jon's reaction to the way he conducted was, "I'm kinda worried he is the kind of person that is going to bring a gun and take us all hostage if he gets rejected one too many times." This of course was a reaction to the listing off of the ratio of number of ask outs to dates. Oh boy, oh boy. It might be a long semester in that regard.


Any who! Lots to do before bed. I hope this great day is a sign of a great week.


Happy Sunday!

Just Like the Army

It's been a pretty decent first week back in Provo. I think the secret to avoiding the melancholy that all but plagued me during fall is staying busy, busy, busy. And my new class load certainly does that for me. I think Art History is set to be the favorite class this semester, but I can't really say I dislike any of them too much. (Lies. Effective Study/Learning is tedious to say the least.) Personal Finance might kick my butt, but I really like my professor and I know that if apply myself, this could very well be the most beneficial class I ever take. Fingers crossed. (Plus the TA is very easy on the eyes...further motivation to sit near the front.) Meanwhile, the "Major" battle drags on as Art History 202 and English 251 vie for my affections. Best of luck to both.


Provo continues to be cold, but since I'm able to walk on the sidewalk without looking like I'm about to slip and die, I can deal with it. The mountains can actually be pretty all covered in snow. I've noticed they tend to take on a reflection of the colors around them - all frosty blues and pinks. But don't be fooled, the countdown continues to when I'll be home in perfect San Diego for FOUR MONTHS!!!!! Yay.


In other news....


Jon and I made an epic Wal-Mart run on Monday. Apparently having a conversation with the orange juice is the new way to meet people. Go figure.


School dominated the rest of the week, but today, in a valiant effort to avoid staying in my apartment doing nothing, I went on an adventure. Up at 8 I was out by 10:35 having showered, cleaned my room and the kitchen (you're welcome roommates) and put some effort into my appearance I was off like a dirty shirt to Borders. (Based on the unintentional eavesdropping I've done, I'm 99% sure that every liberal in Provo/Orem is here with me [I think because of the coffee shop]. Interestingly enough, none of them are clean shaven.) But nevertheless I got most of my homework for Monday all finished. All day I've felt like Lorelai in that Gilmore Girls episode where she tries to organize and cancel all superfluous catalog orders. "I'm like the Army, baby! I get more done before 8 in the morning than most people get done all day!" So maybe the time table is off, but the concept rings true, at least for me.


Happy Saturday!

Sure, Why Not

What do you say to taking chances,

What do you say to jumping off the edge?

Never knowing if there's solid ground below

Or hand to hold, or hell to pay.

What do you say?

The Longest Note

"You can either complain the roses have thorns, 

or thank God the thorns have roses"

This week will mark the passage of a decade. In many ways this is my first real decade. So much has happened in my life since the dawning of the new millennium and unlike the '90s, I can remember all of it. I have grown up through all of it. The past four months have been especially significant. When I return to school next week, I will not be naive to the ways of life on my own. I have survived my first semester of college life (though at times it was admittedly a grudging effort). I have learned things about my life and myself that would have remained mysteries had I stayed home. I remember hearing older girls come home from BYU and talk about dealing with things they never thought they would have to. At the time I couldn't begin to comprehend what they meant, but I understand now, though the feelings in my case are far too complex to articulate. Or perhaps they are just too personal, too sacred to my soul to be cheapened at the will of a logical mind. 


Currently I am sitting in my comfortable room surrounded by my books and beautiful things that are small, tangible manifestations of who I am, of people and places that have made a difference in me over the decade. Among them are these treasures:

• A small box with a green bow. Inside, the box is filled with quotes about virtue, given to me on my birthday from a Young Women's president who meant it when she said she loved you. One thought that has stuck in my head is from George Bernard Shaw, "Better keep yourself clean and bright. You are the window through which you must see the world." Sage advice I have all but forgotten in life recently, and that I wish to strive for in the future.
• A plaque that has written on it the "ABC's of Love". This is a quiet souvenir from that 16th summer amidst the warm nights and fireflies of a small southern town. I have learned hard lessons on the heart from that moment in my life, and though I look back with a shake of my head on the year that followed, in the small, secret moments when I am completely honest with myself, I am not sure I would trade that week in for anything else. As I live on into the next year, I should try harder to heed the first hint from this list: Abandon Doubt. 
• Twinkle lights, a pink rubber duck, dried corsages, a candle that smells like summer and ribbons tied in bows. Simple pleasures that bring me simple joy.
• Shelves of books and a copy of "The Kiss" by Gustave Klimt. Both are here as a result of the hearts of good teachers, the kind of people I want to emulate in my own class room someday. These selfless educators reached beyond their tenure to instill in my heart a love of learning that has defined my path in life. If even one student remembers and is touched by me the way I remember and was touched by them, then I will have lived a successful life. Time will tell.
• Delicate and precious nic-nacs that serve no purpose other than beauty. Was it C.S. Lewis who said, "Art has no survival value, rather it is the thing that gives value to surviving."? Or something like that. These are a result of a mother who exposed me to loveliness in culture, food, movies, books, music and shopping. I smell the remnants of the Oscar de la Renta perfume she would wear when I was a little girl lingering on me from a date last night. It is a sophisticated, warm, beautiful scent I will remember all my life as the essence of my mother... especially when mixed with Olay facial cream.

A very large part of me would like very much to borough down in my closet until April when the trees start to bud and the hills are colored with grass an wild flowers and you can hear birds chirping on a morning clear from the rain that came in the night. I love seeing spring time. Because spring means summer and summer is what keeps me going once Christmas is over. As Daphne Loves Derby expressed in one of my favorite lines: 

I have been waiting,
For July to come around
I hear the Summer
Whispering the things to come

We have been waiting
For the sun to show it's face
Thank you sweet winter
But now we're desperate to move on

Yet despite this yearning I feel a strange excitement that only the promise of a new year can bring. I feel like this semester will be better than the last. I hope so. When people ask if I like BYU, I respond with much more enthusiasm that I really feel. It's not that I don't enjoy class, or the school overall. What I dread going back to is the bone chilling loneliness that comes as I sit alone in my tiny apartment, often on a Friday night, looking out onto a scene that could easily be a black and white photograph. It is the feeling of being trapped. Trapped by the cold, by my shyness, by my lack of transportation, by the mountains, by my dwindling bank account. Locked away from culture and the simple excitement that comes from wandering through a book store or sipping a mocha at a small cafe or eating something delectable you can get no place else. There is adventure in discovering these little nooks in life, and they are inexplicably unattainable to me. I hate that. Worse, I don't know how to fix it. But regardless, I am choosing to look on the next four months with optimism. Sometimes life surprises you, and I like surprises so bring 'em on.  

A seminary teacher described the next ten years of my life as the Decade of Decision." And the time for the big choices will come. I have driven myself crazy since August wondering why they weren't all coming at once, but as Victor Frankl said, "The last human freedom is the ability to choose one's attitude." For now, for right this moment and for all the moments to come over this semester and beyond, I choose to live. 

Live beautifully, live like a lady, live with elegance and grace. Live to enjoy Jazz one day and Country the next. Live to enjoy my guilty pleasures. Live to wear as many cardigans and pearls as I dang well please.  Live to take inspirations from others and make them my own. Live to try a little harder to be a little better. Live to serve. Live to smile.  Live to serve with a smile. Live to make it about them, whatever it is and whoever they are. Live to be Sarah. 

I used to be pretty good at that last part.

Tomorrow's another day

And I'm thirsty anyway

So bring on the rain

Simply Morning

Where your pleasure is, there is your treasure;

Where your treasure, there your heart;

Where your heart, there your happiness.

Saint Augustine

Timeless

I wanna break every clock

The hands of time could never move again

We could stay in this moment

For the rest of our lives

Anberlin "Inevitable"

Untitled

Sometimes I wonder about my life.

I lead a small life.

Well, valuable, but small.

And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it,

or because I haven’t been brave?

So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book,

when shouldn’t it be the other way around?

I don’t really want an answer.

I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void.

So goodnight, dear void.

This is Me

I had to take a personality test for a class and apparently I am type ENFJ: Extroverted iNtuitive, Feeling, Judging

The label given to these personality types is teachers and only 2.4% of the population are wired this way. Below is wikipedia's description of me based on my result. I thought it was pretty interesting and oddly accurate.

"Extraverted feeling types seek continuity through harmonious relationships and collective values. They excel at picking up on the tone of a situation and acting accordingly, adding warmth to a cool setting or turning sour into sweet. They naturally seek to know what people do well, what they enjoy, and where and how they work. They seem to have an infinite number of acquaintances from all walks of life and are always on the lookout for people in need and those who can help out. ENFJs weave and strengthen the collective fabric of social conventions and interactions. Inclusiveness is important and they are particularly sensitive to those who are excluded.

ENFJs focus on others, feeling a glow when those around them are happy, and troubled when something is amiss. They are natural cheerleaders, often expressing support, gratitude, and encouragement, and heaping praise onto those they appreciate. They take note of what is being done and what needs doing, offering their assistance wherever necessary.

ENFJs enjoy organizing group activities and tend to take their commitments seriously. In general, they are reliable and do not like to disappoint others. As team players and project leaders, they have a gift for rallying their players, focusing on what is being done right and each member's strengths. They are loyal and they expect loyalty. They carry conversations well, finding common ground with their speaker. They tend to find the correct and gracious way to respond in any given situation, no matter how tense or uncomfortable it is.

Extraverted feeling types will uphold a wide range of values, simply because shared values are what create harmony. Some will profess the importance of tough-minded logic, justice and scholarly debate because their environments have these shared values. They tend to adopt the collective values of those in their social group."