I'm there, somewhere.
A realization from late nights up– even if only for a few minutes: I am a Type B living in a Type A town.
Sometimes I feel awkward.
Washington is a fascinating city that way. It attracts so many people who are passionate about their endeavors and their causes and their work that sometimes those of us who ended up here by happy accident feel as though we're a little lost– even if joyfully lost.
There is much to lose yourself in and around here: the city may be strangely small and/or short-ceilinged and quaint. It may not be as glamorous or as well put-together. It may wear a faceful of make-up and still look like the also-ran in some way; but make no mistake that this city knows how to get to check mate in fewer moves than you think possible.
We Type Bs know it. We know it better than the As, with their planners and lists and endless need to get more things done than we can think up in a day.
It may take us much (much, much) longer to get our feet shuffling and out the door– because a relatively goal-less mind is a diversion, but so is the intriguing outline of the Edwardian porch. And so are the unbelievably amazing pastries that the little store overlooking Lincoln Park sells until they run out, every single morning except for Tuesdays.
And someday, when we've finally caught up to you Type As, we might tell you all about it.