Naturally due to my personality type (INFJ), I am obsessed with differing personalities. I am curious how people interact, the decisions they make when they interact, and how different styles work or don’t work.

When I learned about myers-briggs personality types, I first thought that it was bogus. But as I learned more, it revealed to me that there are very distinct types of people. At the very first glance, there’s the type of people who respond to my questions and thought exercises—”what if we never had that childhood incident, how would our lives be different?” or “why do we choose to be attracted to some, but not others?” Then there are those who respond to questions of the every day—”what is the fastest way to get from the Mission to the Marina?” or “how does one make gnocchi?”

To me, it’s these personalities. When I was lost at the age of 21, I sought a counselor. Really he was more of a student counselor and gave me the MBTI test. I sat in a room and took the 100 question test. The results returned that I was an INFJ, which interestingly is the rarest of all the types. The special unicorn and the dolphin. I have the combination of wanting to change the way in an idealistic positive way, a desire to connect with people, and a soul that is so sensitive to criticism that we all crumble in pain.

That’s wholly me.

Then there’s Chris who after multiple personality tests (that I of course forced upon him) is an ENTJ. What kind of personality type is that? It’s one that many presidents inhabit. From the negative POV, it’s the personality type that mows down people in order to establish efficient order, because that’s what the personality values. This personality comes off insensitive, authoritative, and unemotional. It gets a bad rap.

An INFJ and an ENTJ should not be attracted to each other. And yet, here we are. An unlikely pair.

This morning, I came across article about casual racism from an Asian American woman. I have been trying all day trying to wrap my head around it—understand it from my perspective as an Asian American and whether my response is simply unacceptable in the world of microaggressions.

But then I realized that I am very different. Because surely, we all come from different places.

There’s this paragraph:

The social pressure on people of color to keep the peace, not get mad, just make sure everyone keeps having a nice time — even when we hear these remarks in public, at our workplaces and schools, in our own homes and from our friends’ mouths — can be overwhelming, bearing down on us in so many situations we do not see coming and therefore cannot avoid. What does our dignity matter, what do our feelings amount to, when we could embarrass white people we care about? When our white relatives or friends or colleagues might experience a moment’s discomfort, anxiety, or guilt?

On Facebook and Twitter, it’s one of the most quoted passages. It’s the essence of should we speak up or make sure everyone is having a nice time? Shall we be the wet blanket or just grit our teeth and smile?

So for me. My response to someone making an off-the-cuff comment like “You look like so-and-so”, I would immediately jab back with a smile, “Are you saying all Asians look alike? Sometimes I have trouble telling apart white people too!”

I caught myself before posting that on Facebook, because at its core, there’s something racist about that too. I do honestly have trouble telling apart white men and white women. I watch a TV show or movie…and sometimes I wonder (especially if the hairstyle is the same) whether I just saw the same person twice. Why do the two lawyers look alike? Balding with glasses? But then I realize that one is taller than the other and that one has a low, growling voice. I just don’t pay attention to those things. But I am fully aware of that fault. So in the case that I am obliviously compared to Asians in the media, I will share my own failing.

But there’s another side that I would want to address. My sister and I have always looked very different from each other. She wears makeup. I don’t. Her face is longer than mine. My face is round. My skin is darker. Her skin is light. etc etc. It’s quite common for someone to say, “You don’t look like sisters at all!” I agree. I simply look like my dad, and my sister looks like my mom. But the only people who say that we look alike tend to be non-Asians. Because at a glance, we both have the Asian eyes, the soft nose, and the dark hair. And I do notice that the non-Asians do try to study our faces to look for similarities. But that’s pretty much looking at Julianne Moore and Jessica Chastain…then declaring that they’re sisters because they both are redheads.

But back to the article, it’s the fact that I always say something when something even remotely racist pops up. Especially when it’s targeting Asians. I personally lose sight of the value of the participants in the conversation and will overreact. Because in the moment, I am swayed by the fact that someone needs to be corrected. In the past, I have rubbed people the wrong way when I reacted to “Where are you really from?” even though it was an important networking moment.

Some may say that they’re innocent. But I remember the last instance. She really wanted to know where I was from. So after dodging the answer for several minutes and raising a fuss about how insensitive the question really was, I answered that my parents were from Hong Kong. “Oh,” she said. “I spent some time in Taiwan. My boyfriend is Taiwanese.”

What’s inherently wrong with that response is the assumption that she spent some time with Taiwan would make her feel more connected with me. The fact that an Asian like country must be similar, must have some relevance to me. What’s true is that I did visit Taiwan, but I don’t speak Mandarin and barely can read the language. So to me, Taiwan is like any country I have visited like Turkey or Italy. I don’t bond beyond that.

I remember making a similar faux pas when I was Brazil and meeting some Dutch guys. I said, “I may be visiting Finland soon. What’s so special about the Finns?”

They blinked, and I realized my mistake. Just because they’re from Europe does that mean that they know anything about a non-neighboring country. A country that is more than an hour flight away. They didn’t say anything rude, but they said, “Come visit us in Amsterdam.”

And then we continued the conversation.

What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?

In 2014, it was when I wrote a well-crafted piece (that I read to a live audience 11 months later). In 2013, it was when light shone in the face of despair. In 2012, it was when I stood up for myself. In 2011, it was a moment of clarity, sincere belief and friendship. In 2010, it was an action of commitment.

In 2015, it was the moment that I realized that I could finish Ice Cream Travel Guide. I am not sure if it was the moment that I put the last words to the page (perhaps on the Caltrain). Or was it the moment that I finished the layout and found myself super motivated to finish the layout. Or the moment that I found out that the hardest part was over (the writing). The easiest part for me was the design, the layout, the website, tech management, logistics.

I remember what Steve Almond once said. He hates writing all the time, especially during. The best part of writing for him is when he finishes. That’s the best part for me too. When I look back and say, hey that’s amazing.

But the fact that I was able to finish all the writing, the editing. That this year, nearly all off it, I gave up all the fears that I had about the book. I was afraid that people would see me as a bad writer. That fear paralyzed me so much that I didn’t do anything. But oddly enough, I forced myself to read many books. In a mixed way, I realized that many writers are pretty bad. So I couldn’t possibly be the only one.

After all, it’s supposed to be about “good enough”. Am I proud of the book? Yes. Could I have done more? Absolutely. But the moment that I accepted that it was “good enough” was the moment that I stopped being afraid and the moment that I knew everything’s ok. After all, a bad book doesn’t kill anyone, right? Although one of my nightmares the last few years was that I would die before the book was published…and that would be the worst thing ever.

Everything’s ok.

How did you travel in 2015? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?

In 2014, I went on multiple weekend trips, increased business trips, and found a destination for ice cream and writing. In 2013, I finished off the bulk of the travel for the Ice Cream Travel Guide. In 2012, I started the journey of a life and went to what I thought was unfathomable (in my life) — six domestic destinations and eight international destinations — for professional and personal reasons. In 2011, I went on one international trip, one domestic…and one super local. In 2010, I went on one international trip and multiple domestic trips.

This year, I aligned all my goals to my travel, and it really did work out that way. I didn’t even go to Tahoe!

In 2015, I traveled to:

In 2016, I already have a Finland/Sweden planned for a conference (where I am speaking!) and fancy restaurant reservation. There’s my sister’s wedding in Los Angeles. Then there’s a plan potentially for her casual fun time in Portland. Potentially, I promised a friend that I would do a super casual cycling trip in Italy in the fall. There’s also the Seattle to Portland bike ride that I want to do in July. Then there’s unknown business trips. Who knows what will come? Will I have an ice cream book tour? Or will I limit myself until the second printing or picked up by Amazon?

Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

In 2010, it was a person. In 2011, it was an idea. In 2012, it was a symbol represented by a person. In 2013, I let go fear. In 2014, I let go of humility (or the desire to appear humble).

This year, I let go of perfection.

What I mean by that is a personal desire to do the right thing, do the thing right. Yes, the latter is my design mantra: design the right thing, rather designing the thing right. But perfection is an unattainable goal. Because I want to be the best, to be the brightest, be the coolest. In an effort to do that, the fear of not reaching perfection settled in my veins, slowed all action, and locked me in one place. I procrastinated, I distracted myself (unintentionally), I made up stories to cover the imperfection.

What I understand now is the process to reaching my goals doesn’t have to be perfect. Nor does the end result. It’s the fact that I reached the goal matters to me. I will finish writing the book is quite different from I will finish writing the finest book of quality, well designed content. The addition of adjectives adds standards and requirements. When in the first goal, it’s simply the completion of an action.

Because I let go out of the perfection, I was able to accomplish more goals than I had in previous years. If failed, it didn’t matter, because I had tried. Failure is an option. But for the majority of the goals I had set for myself, because I tried, I still won.

Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

I had an awkward response in 2010 where I listed everything that was a distraction.

For 2015, it was simply fear. It’s a big word, yes, but for me, it’s the fear that I cannot produce anything of value. Then everything I do—sleep, cook, eat, make money (by doing UX, sending email to clients, updating protfolio)—is about not confronting that fear. I do all of those things to procrastinate so that I don’t have to be full frontal with the beast.

In 2003, last year, and this year, I participated in nanowrimo. Last year and this year, it was more of an effort to get my ideas on paper. Initially, it was difficult—the idea of putting something unknown and uncertain down. But by the first and second week, I got the hang of it, spilling out words to make whatever I wanted to do. But there was that lingering fear. But what could I do except to face and say, “I will write nonsense, trash, crap, and just put it down here.”

And surprisingly, through that confrontation, I was able to churn out some good stuff. Not a lot, but something. But there’s something completely awkward about that method. The brute force of it all, the wasting way of my brain cells just to meet the word count (50,000 words in one month). Do we run over 20 miles just to say that we did it? Do we put a house together with wood and nails just because we did it once in a miniature form? It’s strange how it goes.

There’s a proverb that I included in the story when the main character struggled with inner turmoil to tell the truth:

A lion who goes up the mountain to find food is more likely to be hunted and torn down. But the truth of the matter is: what if the lion never goes? Then the lion will never have the chance of finding food.

“I love that proverb,” a fellow wrimo told me.

“I made it up,” I said proudly.

“It feels so real,” he said.

What if I hadn’t even written? What if?