A typed internet essay about Te
In my ongoing quest to distinguish between Ti and Te, I recently came across an interesting article:
Whether or not the observation itself is legit, it’s still lols how true the latter attitude rings for me. For instance, the word “hubby” is annoying despite its cool context. “Hubby” is not a synonym for husband. “Hubby” is a cue for “I am a fairly old fashioned person who does not want to seem unhip on the inter-net.” I am distracted by the incongruity of this conflation because I am absurdly aware and therefore wary of nomenclature; though the importance of precision in naming things is fully apparent to me, only rarely can I employ it in full conscience. The sword of accepting titles as a pure descriptive form for concepts is too double-edged: precision requires that one accepts the propaganda that underlies so many of the names we come across in our post-Orwellian world.
This is me at Jamba Juice (or, as I mentally call it, Fruit Drink Place):
Perhaps I would have fared better at ordering refreshments before 1949.
In fact Jamba Juice is a downright sublime example of what happens when names get out of control. Ordering at Jamba Juice involves the unspoken rule that only if some completely deranged smattering of mangled lexicon passes your lips will you be permitted to pay for a chalky banana-ice blend flavored with various fruits. This is a screen cap I did of part of the JJ menu:
I can tell you here and now that in my life I will most likely never give voice to the words “Berry Fulfilling”. It is difficult to envision too many conditions under which I might legitimately do this. Maybe
Why such obstinacy, you might ask. Don’t you realize you are wasting collective hours of your life in playing impromptu charades with bewildered strangers?
Te. It’s Te. Blame Te. Te really likes arguing about the details of things for no reason, relentlessly and pedantically until you just give the fuck up and go to bed. Like if Ti were a brilliant director who made a cool movie, Te would be the horrible internet board non-troll fanning a flame war over whether or not Object A belonged in Shot B of said movie.
Why does Object A matter? Uh, it doesn’t. Unless, that is, you have a lot of Te.
I understand this internet-arsonist person because I have been this person, and will before long play the role again. I have a lot of Te. Like if you want to know how much Te I have, imagine a textbook ExTJ. Are you imagining? If you are doing it right and are not ExTJ yourself, you are probably imagining the image of this person making you cry. Very good. Now, tweak this image as follows: Instead of running away, you are just like. “Man, ExTJ, why do you gotta be like that all the time?” And instead of destroying you the ExTJ is all, “Oh my gosh!! I am so sorry oh my gosh are you mad please don’t be mad” as tears appear in their eyes and they awkwardly attempt to hug you, except their jawbone hits your ear, so now in addition to being mad you are also bruised on your ear.
The thing about Te is that it’s broad. Concepts > words. When I say “Raspberry Rainbow”, you are thinking of a different manner of thing than you would think of if I merely said, “raspberry smoothie”. The necessity for me of opting for the latter lies in the fact that, to me, “Raspberry Rainbow” is a totally different concept from “raspberry smoothie” — the latter is an item, the former is a slogan. Referring to the slogan where one should refer to the item seems foolish and misleading to me, with my 1-2-3 punch of Ne-Fi-Te. Ne likes to keep things broad, Fi hates to mislead the naive, and Te does not ever, ever, ever want to be wrong.
This article by a person who identifies themselves only as “SW” defines the extremes of this NeTe looping attitude as “Borderline Personality Disorder.” Idk though man, pretty sure it’s just called “Type-3″. Type-3 is the convergence where ESTJ and ENFP look vaguely alike, at least on paper. It softens the rough, Type-8 Te-dom while grooming the scattered, affable Ne-dom into something more of a political animal.
Ya it pretty much blows.
I would like to get better at Ti. Unconsciously I seek out friends who use it handily. But unless you torture me with 109°C heat, long lines, and a free drink coupon, I will never, ever dance to anyone’s sick tune and say “Raspberry Rainbow” so long as I live.