There exists, in my head, a fixation on those who have the ability to read others. From fortune tellers and “Guess My Weight” booth workers at the local carnival, to federal detectives and CIA interrogators, there is something so very fascinating about a person who is able tell you something about yourself after only one interaction.
I met a delightful woman today. At one time she worked for the FBI. She would look at writing samples and determine, based on the handwriting, what kind of profile a person would fit into.
These days she isn’t working for the FBI, but she still possesses that finely honed skill. She is able to look at person’s signature, and accurately describe their personality type, emotional health, social preferences, relationship types, and so on. I was quite surprised to be read so well by someone I had written my name for once, and had only just met.
I don’t claim a peak level of enigmatic stoicism, but I do like to think of myself as housing some semblance of mystery and intrigue. Perhaps it’s all in my head; maybe I am just an open book...
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