In my quest to find out what writer I want to be, moving forward with 2026, the year of the Fire Horse, I learned a lot about the way I think.
In this essay, I want to share with you how understanding the way you think can lead to self-acceptance and peace. Yeah, that means letting go of your self-assumptions.
I discovered that the way I think, when analyzed through Jungian cognitive typology, explains a great deal about where I am holistically, not just as a writer. This understanding also gave me some clues as to where I will be heading. Maybe my insights can help you realize something too.
It began with Jungian dreams. Perimenopause means my estrogen levels are all over the place, so perhaps that explains their recent occurrence. No matter—the dreams have been revealing.
One of them involved following a woman in a white lab coat named Lyra (the constellation where Vega, the North Star, resides). She led me along an unfamiliar path, skirting the edge of a place that felt known yet strange. I was lost there, grasping at whatever might dispel the dark, until I noticed an opening. A shaft of sunlight revealed a door that looked like a giant window. When I entered it, I was transformed.
The message that was transmitted was simple: do not resist. Almost immediately, wu wei (无為) came to mind—the Chinese philosophy that necessitates an attitude of surrender and receptivity. As in go with the flow. Don’t over-plan.
Wu wei reminded me of a quote from The Guardian, a UK newspaper I read while ago:
“Stop planning your career to the exact detail… The modern career is all about adaptability, information and making connections.”
Oh, Melany! Brilliant! Maybe the answer is to not have a plan.
As an INTJ (Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Judging, in the Myers-Briggs typology), I am big on plans. Plans helped me survive CPTSD, plans help run a household with two teens. But perhaps the plan I need to implement with my writing career is to let go and let be?
To understand this tension better, I did what I always do: I researched. I went back and forth between ChatGPT and my own Googling, consulted a published hard-copy book on the MBTI, and cross-checked everything. That process turned out to be the real gold. It didn’t hand me a career roadmap, but it answered a more essential question: how I am wired to create. (I won’t paste everything I learned here—you can look it up if you’re curious)
The vibe of the upcoming Fire Horse year is dramatic change. Imagine a wild horse galloping with furious momentum—eyes bright, charging toward its object of desire. The Fire Horse year is notorious. Known as the 丙午 year, it was once so feared that couples in ancient times avoided conceiving children during it. A Fire Horse Lady was believed to be too free-spirited, too unruly—ultimately unmarriageable.
But I like the sound of that runaway horse energy. I have been waiting too long for this kind of wild ride. Fiery Horse Power take me away! However, this year, I will not seek adventure on purpose. I will stay true to my path and allow the change-maker—person, event, or insight—to find me. May I recognize Lyra when she arrives.
The dream I described had Vega in it—If I stay true to my North Star, does that mean I will be more open to the powers of fate? Why not give this approach a try?
The biggest reason why I feel lost as a writer is my writing style.
I’m so happy I found Jungian cognitive typology, because it helped me explain why the way I write clashes with the “show, don’t tell” and “make me feel it” crowd. Artistically speaking, I am closer to a hammer than a chisel. Literary critiques often say my essays “explain too much” or that I do not “let the image breathe.”
I write to explain. To discuss. At worst, I sound like a preacher-teacher or an instruction manual. At best, like a copywriter convincing you to buy something—usually an idea.
But is that really so terrible?
I recently read about an artist, Tehching Hsieh, who labored for thirteen years before presenting his work publicly. He is now in his sixties. Imagine thinking that long-term. Imagine having the discipline not to chase visibility, immediate recognition, or followers. Imagine fidelity to your own psychological truth. Imagine that kind of patience.
Much literary critique assumes that feeling is the primary carrier of truth—that emotion is the highest proof of meaning.
I argue otherwise.
I believe coherence is a carrier of truth. Understanding is not inferior to feeling; it is simply a different mode of knowing. I write in order to figure things out, and then I try to connect what I’ve understood to my readers’ lives. When I arrive at an epiphany, it comes through my thinking mind, not through my five senses.
Pagod na ako sa drama. Ayoko nang magpanggap. I am losing interest in apologizing for this orientation or diluting it to fit someone else’s aesthetic. Perhaps I am just getting old.
If, like Tehching Hsieh, I remain unrecognized for quite some time, so be it.
Do you, like me, experience emotional catharsis only after you have processed the mess in your head? If so, we have something in common. Let’s meet and have a chat, because it can get lonely as a writer with this orientation.
Taking inspiration from the Fire Horse energy this coming Chinese New Year of 2026, I will not resist myself too much anymore. You shouldn’t either. Let’s prance unbridled into our passions and our true selves. Let’s see what happens—what an adventure to look forward to.
With more confidence than I have had before, I want to say this is who I am as a writer in 2026. This is where I am going. Whatever comes next, my cupped palms are open to catch the gifts.
Note: I previously thought I was an ENTJ. I got mistyped.
