5:00 a.m.

Staff retreat at Adelynrood Retreat and Conference Center in Byfield, Mass., next door to what used to be Governor Dummer Academy, recently (and wisely) renamed The Governor’s Academy. It was a gorgeous fall day and I was dangerous driving up Rte. 1A this morning, gawking at color. The salt marsh spread out forever like some kind of apocalyptic wheat fields.
So I’m an INFP and not an INFJ, after all. I never took the real thing before anyway, just the Cliff’s Notes version online, a kind of parlor game. INFP totally makes sense—especially makes sense of the piles of papers that accumulate on my floor because I cannot seem to file them, and of my constant struggle to obey the earnest bulleted lists of “to dos” I (or an alter-ego) print up for myself each day.
It’s important to resist the urge to treat this four-letter acronym as something like an astrological sign. It’s a sign, yes, but signs are just marks on wood or paper pointing us to the Real Thing.
I am at a loss to explain the hula hoop part of the workshop, though. You really had to be there.