“Huh,” I mused, my green-grey eyes ran left to right over the polka-dotted Scantron sheet. My results were … inconclusive.

Not entirely inconclusive. N won the day over S ; F defeated T, though not handily; and J absolutely trounced P.

It was 1996, and I was a psychology major at my hometown’s big state school. Just a couple of weeks into my freshman year, the Meyers-Briggs’ personality test was handed out to me and 200 of my closest friends in Intro to Psychology, which was housed in the auditorium-style, mauve-painted Bohannon 90.

But my I and my E? They were within a single point.

Looking back now, it made sense. They’ve got a history of being at war.

Most who knew me from birth to early 20s probably pegged me as a chatty extrovert. I had, ahem, Lucy from Peanuts “leadership qualities,” particularly in elementary and middle school. In the classroom, on the playground, and at McDonaldland birthday parties, I ran shit.

My current fascination with astrology, and some of the learnings, gives this dimensionality, too. (Think what you will; at least we can see the stars!) While my July birthday gives me the sun sign of the homebody, retreat-into-the-shell Cancer, both my moon and my rising signs are Leo, the bold, leaderly, creative, and fiery lion.

In fact, I have 11 elements in Leo, and 12 in fire signs in general. Nothing else is even close.

When I had a friend run my birth chart, this excerpt stood out:

Life is best viewed as a grand creative project. The image that you project is powerful, warm, sunny and enthusiastic.

Except, well, when I don’t.

There have been periods of months, and even years, where the above didn’t apply. I felt out of place, insecure, and generally terrified, especially at work. Big, big, monster imposter syndrome.

I struggled to break into established groups, even my own teams at the office. I was quiet and nervous at conferences and in professional development classes. At one, I remember hiding in the bathroom stall until the place cleared out so that I could avoid invitations to dinner and just wander around the unfamiliar eastern city on my own.

In retrospect, I missed a lot of opportunities when I let those not-good-enough emotions run me. I leaned hard into my I side, avoiding the lobby bar crowds, making quick “appearances” at professional events, and dodging other opportunities to socialize.

I still enjoy some good I-time, chilling at home on a Saturday evening, taking a Sunday nap, wrapping up with a seasonally-decorated fleece blanket and multi-colored, Grandma-style knit slippers (given to me as a joke for my surgical recovery, but so cozy I’ve kept them). And, during work travel, there’s still not much I enjoy more than a 10-mile wander out of the business districts and into the neighborhoods … especially ones I’ve been told I should “be careful!” of.

There is no doubt I am much happier when I lean more consistently into my E side, as I’ve been purposefully doing since Sabbatical. That is a very good thing, as my gigs right now require an outgoing, sunny side. I legitimately enjoy chatting with customers at the restaurant, and with yoga and strength clients before and after class. I’ve also been reaching out, seeking connections and social time like I haven’t in years.

Maybe part of that is I’m not grinding away every Sunday, like I was – on and off, but plenty of on, especially around the merger – for the past 24 months.

It all charges my batteries right up … social interaction is consistently energizing, not draining … which tells me maybe I should grab a No. 2 pencil and fill out that Scantron sheet one more time, just to see how I’ve evolved.