“That’s so unlike a 9,” a friend said to me over breakfast. She was referring to the Enneagram, a personality type indicator we’re both familiar with (my denomination requires a psychological assessment of candidates for ordination, and when I did mine 20 years ago this year the Enneagram was one of its tools). I learned then that I was a 9, and the few times I have revisited the inventory over the past two decades have more or less reestablished that type, even as those years have also featured numerous exchanges about the relative value of personality typing instruments to begin with.
So my friend thinks this thing I just told her I’m doing is unlike a 9. It’s not “reassuring” or “agreeable.” We chuckle.
Of course, we are what the moment makes us.