Posts Tagged ‘personality’


ramblings on a recent life change

January 24, 2011

my first post in months is thesis-less and all over the place, but if you’re patient, you can share some good news with me!

my whole life, i’ve always wanted to categorize people. introvert, extrovert, popular kid, nerd, jock. and yet, if i don’t fall into any clear-cut categories, it’s unlikely anyone else does. my entire life, i’ve over-analyzed, watched from the outside, been painfully self-conscious and brutally self-critical. in middle school, i dreaded getting off the bus because i was scared of tripping. no joke, i would tensely wait in my seat, picturing how i would get up and hold my bag just so in order to smoothly exit the vehicle. i hated it. i was self-conscious about getting up in class, or having to talk to a teacher. i rehearsed conversations in my head, and took different routes through school hallways because it was easier than having to figure out how to interact with certain people. i didn’t like shopping for clothes because i felt intimidated by the other girls in the juniors’ department. i’m still like this over a decade later. i always feel other people’s eyes on me, but am much more adept at faking nonchalance and confidence.

which is why in high school, i shocked everyone (including myself) when i actually chose to audition for the school’s very exclusive and very popular show choir. even more jaw-dropping, i made it into the choir and even wracked up a solo which i performed over a dozen times.

now, at age 25, looking for a position somewhere as an attorney, i’m surprising myself again. i so very badly want to be a prosecutor. why, as someone so awkward and insecure, someone who has rampant insomnia because of her neuroses, would i want to be an attorney who must be in court five days a week? on record, doing trials, before a judge and jury scrutinizing my every action and word?

it’s a mystery. you would think i would be happier hiding in an office where i could limit the number of energy-sapping social interactions. just write some contracts, do some legal research and call it a day. during an internship, i did a few trials for petty crimes. it’s nerve-wracking. it can go very well, or very, very badly. and murphy’s law says that the courtroom will be packed on your bad days and empty on your good.

i do know that in a public situation, when you do something right, it’s the best feeling in the world. maybe that’s it, maybe i’m a gambler. i want those intense highs, and for it, i’ll risk some major humiliation. but why am i this way? why, for example, do i keep planning parties at my place when the stress of wondering who will come or if they’ll have fun is so exhausting? why strive for jobs for which i have no natural ability, social events which could go terribly wrong, and guys i feel are completely out of my league? for someone so scared of life, you would think i would stay in my comfort zone.

instead, i want to be a prosecutor. and guess what? the dream is coming true: starting in march, i will be a prosecutor for one of the top ten largest counties in the united states. i read that and i shiver.

i don’t think i could have chosen a job with a more mentally grueling and anxiety-causing interview process. it spanned from September 11th, 2010 to January 13th, 2011: **DISCLAIMER** i’m sure you will all find the rest of this boring, but i want to document my journey for posterity’s sake.

  • interview #1, aka “the dead baby in the cooler” test–my mother always says, don’t try to look attractive for an interview, look competent. and so there i was, suited up, hair pulled into a chignon, a single strand of pearls. heart-pounding. you know when you can actually hear the blood pumping in your ears? just like that. i prepared by googling my interviewer and creating a document with every possible interview question i’d ever been asked, and solid answers i could give. i walk into the interview, prepared to earnestly explain to this woman why i’m the right person for this job. what do i get? a hypothetical wherein (do you like that nice legal insert?) a man goes about kidnapping babies, putting them into his cooler, going out onto a lake, and throwing the babies into the water. the cooler is a very standard plastic blue cooler. so, one afternoon, another baby is taken and in the wee hours of the night, an officer sees a man about to get onto a boat holding a blue cooler. can the officer search the cooler? talk about an “oh shit” moment. it felt difficult to breathe and even more difficult to think of a coherent thought. why didn’t i think to study criminal procedure? the interview went from bad to worse as i talked myself into a corner. i left the interview, my confidence crushed. i immediately went home and wrote a sincere and, if i do say so myself, eloquent email to this woman begging her to call my supervisor and get a real understanding of my abilities and passion for the job.
  • it worked. callback interview #1, aka “dead baby revisited”–this time i’m really prepared. one week of going over all my old criminal procedure notes from law school and bar exam studying. i am determined to make a better impression. what do i get hit with this time? first, he wanted to know why i felt the need to write the email to my first interviewer (um, duh, because i sucked and i really, really wanted a second chance). two, he was back on that darned dead baby hypo. well, obviously i’d thought about it some and i had a few different ideas of how to get that officer’s itchy little hands into that cooler. i spun off a few of my theories, thinking i was so smart. did the man seem impressed? nope. complete dead pan. instead, he mentioned how they had over 400 applicants for just ten positions, and that i should really have a back up plan. he sympathized with recent law graduates with the economy being as it is, and said it would almost be better to still be in school. ok, that’s all folks, my rejection letter is as good as in the mail.
  • ok, maybe not. callback interview #2, aka “the three levels of  hell and meeting the queen”–i imagine the only reason i received a second callback is because the previous attorneys i had worked with wrote me some very good reviews. bless them a hundred times over. new suit, new pearls, new pumps (annoyingly, the right shoe squeaked with each step). interview is at 3 pm. i’m fifteen minutes early. i wait. and wait. and wait some more. it’s almost 4 pm when someone comes and gets me from the lobby. we go to the 4th floor where i’m ushered into another waiting area. another half hour passes while i desperately scan the copy of “Super Lawyers” on the table next to me. at 4:33, a secretary invites me into an imposing conference room with ten seats and no people. i set my purse far enough away from my feet that i won’t trip getting up. i try to pose so that i look professional but can still get up quickly to shake the queen’s hand. i put my hands palms up on my lap so they won’t collect sweat. the minutes tick by. i’m starting to feel nauseous and my palms are sweating anyway. 28 grueling minutes later, she walks in. i remember wondering if she purposely makes her interviewees go through two hours and three levels of waiting hell just to ratchet up their anxiety level by the time she walks into the room. as the head of the entire prosecutor’s office, this is a woman who is on tv with precious little time to waste. and here she is, shaking my hand.  strangely, at the most intense and important of the three interviews, i did my best. i spoke well and made her laugh a few times. we ended up getting off onto a few tangents until she would suddenly check her watch and say, goodness we’re off track but that was so interesting! one of her final questions was also to ask me why i felt the need to write that email to the first interviewer. it surprised me. don’t people do things like that when they are truly passionate about a position? i told her i’m not afraid to put myself out there for something i want. she complimented me and said that i was very intuitive and eloquent. i practically skipped out of there. my “intuitive” self felt like i’d aced the interview. just three days later, i get a call from the hiring coordinator stating that they are offering me a position for the march class. i called my mother right after i got off the phone and screamed something unintelligible into the phone. i even called my dad, who isn’t exactly my best buddy. it was an amazing day, and i’m still floating on that high.

2011, you are shaping up to be my best year yet.


in the present

October 18, 2010

in high school on slow nights, my best friend and i would drive for hours through the meandering roads of a park. we drove because we had nowhere to be, but even though we drove in the same tired circles, we felt free, exhilarated. we would play the stereo so loudly we could feel it vibrating in our chests. we would talk for hours about boys, college, getting out of this horrible, cliquey town. it may sound ridiculous to you, but on those drives, we felt alive and young and present. it was like living life in color.

i’ve always had this problem living my life versus watching myself go through the motions as if i were the narrator to my own story. there are very few times, like those car rides, where i’ve felt as if what i was feeling was pure.

how to explain?

example: friend tells me about a mutual acquaintance, very close to her, who died at age 27 of a heart attack. my reaction is clinical. my brain, and i almost picture a dry british voice doing this, articulates that i should feel sad because that’s the appropriate response. and so i do ‘sad’. and truly, i am sad. what frustrates me is that i have an emotional middleman—nothing i feel is instant but the result of some sort of consultation. during special events when i’m out on a night where there’s no reason not to enjoy myself and be happy, this voice constantly flits through my head: “remember this moment, try to picture how everyone looks right now, laugh harder, make your face relaxed and happy in case someone is looking”. i’ll be taking care of my drunk friend, and as i’m rubbing her back as she retches into a toilet, that damned voice says to me, “look at what a great person you are”.

i think maybe this might be the root of my self-esteem issues. basically, i have so few seemingly unadulterated emotions that i feel like a fake. i can’t really believe things people think i am—compassionate, sweet, thoughtful—because even though i feel empathy, go out of my way to help or do nice things on a birthday, there are always those few seconds before whatever feeling i’m supposed to be experiencing kicks in, or that Voice takes satisfaction in a good deed. even when i know people like me, i’m left thinking that they couldn’t really because i’m not fully what i portray. they just don’t know that, and i don’t want them to because i desperately need people around to be happy.

why can’t i just BE? not just during those special days scattered throughout my 25 years of life, but every day.


letter to my roommate

April 22, 2007

so things have gotten out of control with my roommate. i don’t even want to go into what set it off. it’s completely disproportionate to the aftermath.

the facts: she’s stubborn, illogical, crazy. this is said while i’m absolutely logical, sober, etc. she really is nuts. i don’t think she’s bad-hearted or anything like that though.

meanwhile, i’m short-tempered, impulsive, awkward, and also stubborn. this has led to an almost two month silence between us. mind you, we live in the same small apartment.

i decided to write her a letter and stick it under her door since i’m way too intimidated to approach her and she hasn’t tried to talk to me. here it is, names changed of course:


I’m typing this because I know my handwriting is atrocious.

I hung out with Rhonda, who, good-hearted person that she is, is trying to urge me to be the same. I’ll be honest: I don’t want to be friends with you. We had something for a while; you were outgoing and fun, I was shy and serious—we worked. Well it doesn’t anymore. I don’t agree with anything you say or do, and you vice versa. That’s fine, we’re just different people. I have my issues, and you have yours. I think that we actually have a lot of the same problems. Insecurity, etc. But we don’t face them the same way, and honestly, I don’t think either of us is effective in dealing with our issues. I can say that I haven’t been the best friend to you. I’m too self-involved, trying to work out everything that’s wrong with me and sometimes stuff I think you need to talk/work out, I wasn’t there. I don’t even know if this makes sense to you. I just feel like sometimes you put on a tough front when you’re not really sure of things, i.e. you’re future, weight, etc. I’m not saying any of this to offend you. You know me, I can’t stand my body and agonize over every event in my life. But, I never tried to help you with your stuff, I just let it go because I didn’t want to get into an argument or hurt your feelings or make life harder for myself during an attempt to make you cognizant of something maybe not so healthy for you.

That said, just because I don’t want to be friends with you doesn’t mean I hate you. Frustrated, yes. I know this last fight was half me and half you. My problem was that you wanted to make it one hundred percent me. I know it’s not. I will not blame all our issues on me and if you are then you need to take a good look at yourself.

That’s over though. At this point I’m just taking my cues from you. I’ll act however you want me to. I didn’t send you the email about senior week because I wanted to look good to the other girls. Girls talk—or at least I do—and I’m sure they know we’ve had issues. We have the same friends and I don’t want to make it uncomfortable or exclude you. As it is, everything’s split between all of us even more because of Susan and Katharine. And I also worry that maybe you don’t hang out with say Kristine or Jessie as much just because I DO hang out with them. It’s your senior year too and I’m not trying to take that away from you. I was trying to be fair and I’m hurt you would think otherwise. I don’t always do the right or the adult thing, but I don’t purposely plan out things to hurt people. Whenever I do end up doing something mean, it’s impulsive bad-temperedness that I regret afterwards.

If you go to senior week (and you should), I won’t make things weird as long as you don’t. Like I said, I’ll take my cues from you. If I think you hate me (which I do think), I’ll go ice and ignore you completely because I don’t know what else to do. As I did today while I was sitting in the lounge. We don’t have to be friends to be nice to each other. It would be cool if we could hang out in the same room without being too uncomfortable. Or making things uncomfortable for our mutual friends. Example, it’s Kristine’s birthday soon and I’m sure she’d want all her friends to be there. Or Rhonda who gets caught in between our different sides of the story.

It was weird today. You know I didn’t ever realize that it was you who came back with Susan? Rhonda didn’t either because we didn’t see your face. When I came into Susan’s room, I didn’t realize either. Sounds dumb, but Katharine said Susan went out with her cousin, so in my unobservant state, I thought you were her cousin. Then Susan told me but it seemed strange to just come up to you and say Hi considering we pretend we’re living alone here. It doesn’t feel right to ignore someone in the room with you, same APARTMENT as you, and I’d rather not do it anymore.

There’s a lot of other stuff I think and feel about this situation, but I don’t even know if you care or if it matters so this is it. It’s not as if I wish you badly. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. I know that the only thing keeping me going IS going to Miami Law and my new start-over life there. Otherwise, I’m pretty lost. I hope you find something like that.

That’s about it,


wonder what tomorrow will bring? if anything. haha, what if it’s too long she doesn’t even finish reading it?

am i trying too hard? i don’t like her, but i don’t want her to be miserable. maybe she doesn’t even care about any of this like i do. maybe she hasn’t even thought about it.  maybe i’m being completely overdramatic and illogical with the entire letter even though my intentions were the exact opposite.

maybe i’m doing all this to feel better about myself. maybe it’s partly this and partly really wanting to be nice. and of course, i’m overthinking all of this while she’s dead asleep in the next room.