  Here’s a hint: I’m a 4. An Enneagram 4, that is. To those of you who don’t know, well, you just don’t know. But for those of you who do---I’m a classic, textbook style 4. I guess it shouldn’t really be surprising.
The number, in purely numerical terms. Fours have always been there, been a part of my life. I once spent the entire day at the race track betting on the 4th horse, and made quite a killing. He spent his time pouring over the racing books searching for the answers in the facts, the statistics, the odds. He wasn’t exactly pleased with the results--me winning on a “lucky number.” But at the end of it all, there was a certain glimmer in his eye, at the sort of magic of it all. I think he always liked that about me. My faith in the unexplainables. My confidence in intangible things like that. Funny how that--my faith in something unexplainable like love--ended up being the end of us. But that day at the race track, he liked that about me, even if he tried not to let on. Years later, he always new about that lucky number of 4. 
