strengthsfinder is a bust

The more I read my StrengthsFinder book, the more I realize that a program such as StrengthsFinder has an impossible goal. Each of the billions of people on this earth is completely different, and it doesn't matter how many buckets you try to put them into because you can't. Put people into buckets that is. This realization is almost painful for me because I need to know. What am I? Who am I? Why am I that way? I want the pieces in place to I can say things like...Well of course I made that decision because my Arranger told my Empathy that I needed to Activate my Intellect. Got that? Me either.

But every time I take a test such as StrengthsFinder or Myers-Briggs, I have two experiences. One...I feel like I know where the questions are leading. It's easier to answer based on what I think it right than to really know what is strongly ME. And two... I am never sure I agree with the results.

Myers-Briggs puts you into big buckets. I'm sure their goal is to catch as many people accurately in those buckets as they can. INFJ - Introvert, Intuition, Feeling, Judging. Yeah okay I'd agree that that's me, but how do I really USE that information.

StrengthsFinder tries to give you information that you can use. They have many more smaller buckets, but because of this I wonder if the nuances between the types are sometimes lost. Input, Arranger, Empathy, Learner, Intellection. Yes, I suppose these describe me, but Input, Learner, and Intellection are so similar. Arranger is close to Strategic. Achiever and Maximizer are also on the same path. So many of the types have the same goal but different motivations. And I find it hard to believe that a series of questions can truly detect those nuances. One time I take the test I get Arranger. Another time I get Strategic. But truly, WHY did that change?

And when are they going to tell my why I always need to know WHY? No one's ever explained that to me, but I'll be darned if it isn't one of my most driving characteristics.

help! i can't relax.

I miss blogging. I can't seem to slow down enough these days to think about much of anything. And when I do slow down long enough to think, I begin to panic about one thing or another. How am I going to pay for my furniture? What if I lose my job? What would I do if he left me? What am I going to do for youth group on Sunday? When am I going to get the laundry done? How many miles did I put on my new car this week? When will I find time to go see Grandma? What if my nephews grow up without getting to spend any time with me? Do I have any food to eat? Why did I buy that? Why did I eat that? On and on...

I'm a bit nuts, it's true.

So I'm putting out the call. What do you do to slow down without letting the crazy in? What do you do to relax without letting your mind start whirling? I need some tips or I'm going to be 40 in heartbeats before I'm 30 in years. Yikes.

love in any language

At Bethany's suggestion, I've been (for free) reading about the Five Love Languages. I spend a lot of time trying to understand myself, and this is one part of myself that I haven't had much time to get to know. Everyone is likely a candidate for all love languages, and I'm no different. I see all of these in me. The languages are:

Words of Affirmation

Words carry a lot of power. And I am a Davis. Davises historically need to hear that they are doing well. We take negative things personally. We soak up positive words like sponges. Hearing that I am loved is warming. Hearing that someone appreciates me fills my heart. If I never heard these encouraging, loving words, I'd probably wonder if I really was loved.

Quality Time

If you were to ask me to respond in five seconds which love language I speak, I would respond with Quality Time. I thrive on phone conversations, walks around the lake, and 7th inning stretch Q&A sessions. I feel stressed when there isn't enough time in the day to fit in the communication, whether in person or on the phone, that I need to learn, understand, and grow in love.

Receiving Gifts

I am not good at giving or receiving gifts. I have also never been showered in flowers and candy, but this love language goes deeper. Buying Twins tickets or dinner, giving of yourself, and the occasional framed picture of us means a lot to me. It's easy to say how much you love each other, but it's harder to show it. Gifts, both physical and personal, give me a lot of comfort about love. If we're willing to go that extra mile, it must mean something important. But this could easily be a standard set by society that I've fallen for as opposed to a deep need within me. In any case, I appreciate gift-getting (and giving, too).

Acts of Service

While this isn't my primary language, I see this one, too. Bachelor pads can be scary places! A little vacuuming, bathroom cleaning, bed making, dishes doing, and bed making can go a REALLY long way. This is another way that I can see love, and I appreciate the dedication. But if you asked me whether a clean bathroom would make or break my relationship with someone, I'd say probably not.

Physical Touch

This is important in every relationship. There are days when I want to be enveloped by someone's arms. There are moments when I need my own physical space. In any case, the moments when fingertips and foreheads can communicate a million thoughts are the moments when you truly know that love is there.

I guess you're not really supposed to pick "one" love language that is yours. All of these are in all of us. It's a matter of taking the intentional time to learn what's important about these to your partner. We are all capable of touching, serving, giving, sharing time, and encouraging. You must, however, be willing to give of yourself the things your partner needs. Maybe you hate cleaning, but what matters most to your partner is having a clean house. Can you make this sacrifice for your love? Maybe, maybe not. My grandma always tells me that love and marriage aren't easy. And there are going to be some days when you'll hate each other. But both parties need to make it their responsibility to know the way to bring love back to the center.

what makes you laugh?

Laughter is so universal. Laughter is the physical incarnation of joy. Laughter clears clouds and soothes spirits. Laughter spreads smiles. People laugh in the face of fear and trial because our bodies and minds get so wrought with tension and worry that they must release. Laughter replaces discomfort. Laughter is a greeting and a farewell. Children laugh without effort. Megan Kailhofer laughs without sound. Laughter is pretty darn important.

I'm beginning to realize that the point at which I am most comfortable with you, the point at which I finally feel like I am starting to know you, is the point at which I learn what makes you laugh. If I can make you laugh, or if we can laugh together, we are friends.

Never underestimate the power of humoring the absurd.

what language does your soul speak?

Obviously, I am not a particularly regular blogger. I blog when I feel it will do my body, mind, and spirit a bit of good. 

Earlier today, I was remembering a story I heard last summer from a mother/grandmother/sister/friend/lifelong Sunday school teacher. The story when something like this:

"I was with my 5 year old grandson the other day and he asked, 'Grandma, what's a soul?' I looked at him and said, 'You and your daddy are both boys, right? Are you and your daddy the same?' He laughed and said, 'No, Grandma! That's silly!' So I said, 'Well, you and your sister are both kids. Are you and your sister the same?' He said, 'No!' I said, 'Well, what about you and me? We are both people. And we're family, so are we the same?' He said, 'No.' 'Your soul,' I said, 'is what makes you you. So even though you are a person, like me. And even though you are a kid like your sister. And even though you are a boy like your daddy, you aren't me or your sister or your daddy. You are you.'"

I don't think a lot about my soul, but it seems to me that my soul is the invisible, intangible fingerprint of my me. My soul doesn't speak to me with words or leave sticky notes on my mirror, but somehow it motivates me. It pushes me in one direction or another. Sometimes, my soul speaks in music notes and chords. Sometimes my soul speaks through colors. Sometimes my soul speaks with weather. Oftentimes, my soul speaks stomach ache. 

I read this article called "Soul Man" Monday on the bus ride to New Orleans. The article summarizes an interview with Paul Giamatti about the new movie "Cold Souls." The movie turns the souls of people into physical representations. Giamatti says of his own soul, “I’m seeing a hand-painted ceramic toad,” Giamatti said. “A nice one, though. Not a crappy Chia Pet one. Something decorative for the yard. It doesn’t pull the room together or anything, but it’s out there, and occasionally you notice it and you say, ‘Oh, I kind of like that thing, that—what is it?—that toad thing.’ ”

Other souls he represents with a doorknob, humming bird, or roasted ear of corn. It's hard to imagine what my soul might be if it took on physical form. An old three-legged chair with no arms? With a definite tendency to fall over. But used and overused nonetheless. Or maybe an old spiral bound notebook with lots of blurry pencil notes throughout its pages. I might be aging myself. I suppose it could be a half glass of water in perpetual motion. Or an old shag carpet in a faded green or orange. 

What does your soul look like? What language does it speak? What makes you different from the other 6.7 billion breathing, speaking, living people in the world?

the beauty of the rain

What is it Dar sings about rain? Ah yes... "The beauty of the rain is how it falls, how it falls, how it falls." Granted, Dar is using rain as a metaphor for a relationship, so what metaphors she might choose to use for rain I don't know. But it's true, in any case. The beauty of the rain is how it falls.

It's been a rainy few days. Spring is here, I dare say, though we still have all of April to challenge us with unexpected snowstorms. But I am hopeful. Josh and Sally are sucking the sap out of their maple tree, spreading compost on the gardens, and nurturing seedlets in the laundry room. Signs of spring for certain.


So how does the rain fall? Down. Or inward, I suppose, depending on whether you're on Earth or outside of Earth. In any case, it falls in the direction that it is required to fall. Toward the ground. Toward gravity. It doesn't have a choice, but it can certainly enjoy the journey. I guess I might change the line to say, "The beauty of the rain is that it falls." It is beautiful because it does the only thing it can do. It falls. And it does so always gracefully. When rain is frightening, it is because of wind or lightning or thunder or hail. Rain on it's own is simple. It's water. It gives life. I love spring.

"The truth about the rain is how it falls, how it falls, how it falls."

My life looks different this spring than my life the last many springs. Instead of a slow decrescendo into summer, I am in the midst of a slow (sometimes painfully slow) crescendo into the world of having a career. There is no stretching out on the library lawn to study for finals. There is no sitting with beer and chips on a blanket outside. There are no finals or concerts. But I am energized and excited. I have my name in two Bibles. I am a published editor and contributor. I am seen and heard. I am making like a tulip and starting to poke up through my own personal dirt. I am known to my coworkers and to people who don't know my face (read about it in Beth's blog post). I am proud.

So keep your eyes open for green. Buy a bundle of daffodils. Grab your raincoat and run outside. Watch the rain slide down your windowpanes. Christian oriented or not, spring is a time for rebirth, for newness, for growth. It's time to poke your head out and bloom.

annals of canals and strangers

I canal-walked yesterday. The canals, though gondola-free and smaller than those of the real life Venice, Italy, are peaceful and quiet in this California winter season. The sidewalk is flanked on one side by still, somewhat murky water and on the other by fences and flora. Lone row boats float unmoving, tied to little handmade docks that tilt slightly to one side or the other. The male ducks fight for the females and the birds stand like statues until they are spooked by an unleashed pug scampering along with a high-pitched yap. If anything about these simple streams could be considered striking, it is their distinct contrast to the ocean. Quiet, controlled, murky, and still, while even on the most still of days just blocks away the ocean roars against the shore with crashing waves. The canals reveal the pebbles on their floor while the ocean keeps its creatures secret. In one I see serenity and simplicity. In the other I see intimidating vastness and excitement.


The people here remind me of Minnesotans in their attitude (very nice until they enter a vehicle and start to drive), but unlike the stolid Midwesterners I know and love and am, they continually confront me. Apparently, my dislike for humankind does not come across when I am wearing shorts in February. I have met two fascinating men and conversed with several other interesting people. The first I encountered while waiting at a bus stop. William is an office worker who moved to LA from North Carolina. He enjoys playing paddle tennis, biking, and "smoking a bowl." He got very excited about discussing American literature with a recent BA in English grad, and kept saying "Way cool, man. Way cool." I considered offering to buy him some Doritos.

The second man I met this morning at the Cow's End, my daily (as of yesterday and today) morning coffee stop. Seeing no available outside seats, I sat with my latte and granola on a makeshift wooden box. Right when I was settled in, a nice man in a black baseball hat told me to come sit across from him. Eric is a surfer who recently bought a skateboard, and works in development and sales. He is helping his friend Aloric start a business selling Brazilian fruit in LA. His life philosophy is that we all need to get back to our nomadic values. "Eat, sleep, and breathe," he kept saying. "That's all we truly need. But," he added as he gestured at the array of coffee cups and plates that he and his kids had used, "it adds up fast. We take advantage of what we can have and forget what we really need." I met his teenage daughter, Ocean, and realized I wanted to name my child Ocean, though I am fairly certain it would be more appropriate to name her Lake or Puddle. I also met his second grade son. His name is Esa, which Eric informed me later means Jesus. "It's better than naming your kid Jesus, ya know." The three of us took a walk down to the pier, met a man who teaches kids about the ocean every Sunday, peered at a squid, talked about what is really important in life (raising your kids to love and be kind), and then went on our separate ways. I wish I had a picture.

Two good days or running, walking, biking, shopping, and relaxing. Tomorrow? To the Getty!

in the beginning

I really enjoy airports. Any place where two of my favorite things (Caribou and McDonald's breakfast burritos) come together is a perfect place to spend two hours of any morning. I also like airports for the same reason I like sidewalks - there are lots of people who are all going somewhere. They have a plan. They are on a mission. It makes me want to run around asking, "Where are you going? Where are you headed? Are you sad to be leaving or exciting to be going?" Alas, I am an introvert, so I choose to make up their stories instead.


Today's favorite story: After stowing my carry-on securely in the overhead compartment, I found my window seat next to a 40-50 something, pretty good-looking guy. I concluded he was flying to Hawaii to see his daughter who he hadn't seen in about 5 years. She moved to Hawaii (after graduating with a BA in English) to learn how to surf and make a living as a hula dancer. Just as I was picturing what their tearful reunion would look like, he turned and introduced himself, and the rest of our pre-departure time was taken up by a conversation about medical supplies used in helicopters and airplanes (he is a project manager at a company that develops such things.) I thought about asking him if he had a daughter who lived in Hawaii, but since he said he was from Fargo, I concluded the likelihood was slim.

Flying itself is equally as interesting to me. My flight in facebook statuses:

Erin loves window seats.
Erin is thinking this is a lot like Google Earth with the labels turned off.
Erin is, hey! Was that Eden Prairie?
Erin misses pretzels.
Erin is in a cloud sandwich.
Erin must have like being jiggled as a baby. Turbulence is really soothing.
Erin hates window seats. She has to pee!
Erin is wondering how long "110 miles" will take.
Erin sees flowers and green grass!

Anyway, I think you get the point.

As for my first day in my second Venice, it's a beautiful one. I spent some sand time in the sun (sun time on the sand?), wandered around aimlessly, and grew the ceremonial first blisters. It didn't take long to make myself at home. Good thing no one else needs to share this space. I can say that it's slightly less messy now, but I make no promises it will remain that way.


The beach is beautiful, and quite empty. The water is cold and salty, but feels wonderful on tired feet. I can now say I've been in the Pacific Ocean! Up to my ankles...




So what is the "in conclusion"? the "in the end?" the "all in all" of today?

Well, there isn't one because I just got started. I'm invoking my calm side, my quiet side, my patient side. The side of my that would prefer to be in control if it weren't for deadlines and life and going, going, going...