REMEMBER your first self-assessment test? I took mine — it may have been the Myers-Briggs — in high school, sitting at a too-small desk in a drab, dingy classroom. As an unsmiling teacher paced back and forth, we grudgingly revealed details about our inner selves in the questionnaire’s little spaces.
No doubt the results were enlightening for some of us, whether we were pegged as E.N.T.J.’s or I.S.F.P.’s or anything in between. But I also remember a lot of adolescent humor about one another’s special qualities.