Enneagram 3’s
When everything becomes a performance, it’s hard not to be the cruelest judge.
The last five or so years, I have been on a journey of self discovery. I know that sounds lame, or at the very least, cliche. It wasn’t as if the process, like all of us, did not start in my formative years. I’m not so much speaking about the “what’s” as I am the “why’s.” I already understood my interests, (for the most part) and I also understood in many ways what made me click. I knew my habits for the better or worse and I knew my past mistakes. I could identify patterns in my life and one of the largest ones I documented here in my first blog post. I put down The 12 Rules for Life, walked out of a chain linked fence, and never looked back. From that point on, it was no longer simply knowing things about myself but doing something about it. I left the metaphorical tyranny and entered the desert and let me tell you… the desert sucks.
Raised in Narnia. Back to London.
The strange life of a third culture kid that never really leaves you.
I didn’t climb into a closet during a game of hide and seek to discover a new wintery world with odd talking creatures. I might as well have. I was born in another land but I don’t remember that of course. None of us do. I’m half of that land and half of another so I automatically stick out without intention in the first. To keep this illustration going, I was dropped off at a house in London, away from the cottages and castles of where I was born. London was what I knew. I did London things. I spoke London English. I had London friends. It was good for me because children need a sense of belonging and connection to where they are. And then, like a right of passage at 13, I was summoned back to my birth place of Narnia.