The Dream Job You Wanted as a Kid (According to Your Myers-Briggs Type)

When you’re a kid, you don’t say “I want a career aligned with my cognitive functions, talents and abilities.”  You say things like astronaut. Firefighter. Wizard. Princess. Train conductor.

For me, I wanted to be a writer that lived in a van, able to travel wherever I wanted. I got the writer part, still trying to convince my family about the van part!

But here’s what I’ve been thinking. Maybe what kids are also saying when they tell us their fantastical dream jobs is something quieter and bigger and harder to explain.

I want the world to make sense.
I want to be useful.
I want to be brave.
I want to be free.
I want to matter.

Childhood dreams can tell us a lot about the longings of each type. And even the most practical, grounded, no-nonsense kids still carry that same longing. The same wish to escape the smallness of being told when to sit down, when to be quiet, when to wait. Every child wants freedom. Some just imagine it differently.

ISTJ and the Train Conductor

At first glance, “train conductor” sounds like a job your practical uncle had. But I’ve heard so many ISTJs tell me this is what they wanted to be when they were children. Police officer wound up in second place.

While some people might think this seems odd, let’s think about it for a minute.

A train conductor commands a massive, roaring creature made of steel. It moves because you say so. It goes exactly where it’s supposed to go. It doesn’t wander off the rails (unless it’s Tootle, for those of you who, like me, read a lot of Little Golden Books growing up). It doesn’t betray you with chaos. It follows the track. Always.

For an ISTJ child, that sounds pretty powerful.

While this may not be flying into outer space or saving the world from aliens with a cape strapped to your back, it’s the freedom of exploring the world but with a clear plan, a schedule, and a whistle. Whistles are fun when you’re a kid.

There are rules. And within those rules, you get motion. Distance. Purpose. You are not stuck. You are going somewhere, and people are counting on you to get them there safely.

That’s the fantasy.

Because ISTJ kids don’t usually dream of escaping responsibility. They dream of earning it. Of being competent enough that adults stop hovering. Of being given the keys and told, “We trust you.”

And there’s a quiet romance in it. Passing through towns. Watching landscapes change while you stay steady. Being the calm presence while the world moves around you. The train doesn’t care if you’re emotional. It cares if you’re reliable.

And for an ISTJ child who already feels the weight of doing things right, who already senses that order is fragile and someone has to maintain it, that feels less like a burden and more like a calling.

ISFJ and the Veterinarian

If you ask an ISFJ what they wanted to be as a kid, “veterinarian” comes up a lot. Sometimes it’s that. Sometimes nurse. Sometimes teacher. Sometimes just “someone who helps animals.” But the common thread is always the same. Something small and vulnerable is hurting, and you are the one who notices.

ISFJs don’t really go after the flashy jobs most of the time. For them, fulfillment and satisfaction come from helping those who can’t help themselves or are struggling and need their guidance and nurturing. An ISFJ child notices who’s crying. Notices which dog limps a little. Notices the class pet no one remembered to feed. Notices when something is off, even if no one else seems alarmed yet. This feels obvious to them. Of course someone should do something. Why wouldn’t you?

I have an ISFJ son and he feels the weight of every living thing that needs help. Whether it’s endangered wolves, stray cats, or even the bonsai trees that his ENTP sister keeps forgetting to water. Caring for living things is just what ISFJs do.

The veterinarian fantasy is about being the safe person. The one who knows what to do. The one who doesn’t panic when someone else is scared. The one who can restore order when bodies and routines break down.

There’s also a deep SJ childhood appeal to it. Clean tables. Instruments laid out in neat rows. A predictable process for fixing what’s wrong. Pain comes in, care happens, healing follows. Not always, but often enough to feel like you’re making a difference.

ESTJ and the Sports Coach

ESTJ kids often say they want to be a coach. Or a boss. Or a general. Or sometimes very specifically “the person who tells everyone what to do,” which is usually met with adult laughter that completely misses the point.

It might seem like these little kids are control freaks waiting to happen. But for them it’s not about control. It’s about creating order out of chaos, something that ESTJs are phenomenal at.

A sports coach is someone who takes a bunch of unruly, sweaty kids and turns them into a team that moves with purpose. There are rules. There’s a plan. There’s practice. There’s effort that actually leads somewhere instead of evaporating into feelings and excuses. For an ESTJ child, that’s intoxicating.

They like the clarity of it. You run this drill. You show up on time. You try. You improve. If you don’t, there are consequences, but they’re not mysterious or personal. They’re just… logical. The scoreboard doesn’t lie. The stopwatch doesn’t care how you feel about it.

ESTJ kids tend to notice early on that a lot of people flail. They see disorganization, wasted potential, half-hearted effort. And it drives them nuts. The coach fantasy is a way of fixing that. Of standing on the sidelines with a clipboard and saying, “No. Like this. Watch. Again.”

There’s also something deeply reassuring about being the one with the plan. The adult in the room. The person everyone looks to when things start falling apart. ESTJ children don’t fantasize about escaping responsibility. They fantasize about being allowed to take it.

And yes, there's freedom in it. Maybe not the running through wildflowers on a mountaintop kind (Sorry, Julie Andrews). The freedom of momentum. Of knowing where you’re headed. Of seeing effort turn into results in real time. Of watching a group of individuals become a team because someone finally bothered to organize them.

A coach gets to believe, at least for an afternoon, that discipline works. That their plan and structure will help people to grow. That showing up matters. That pushing someone a little harder than they think they can go is sometimes an act of bringing that person closer to their potential.

For an ESTJ child who already feels an internal pressure to make things run properly, who already senses that leadership isn’t optional if you want things to function, this fantasy is just a dream of living up to their true potential.

ESFJ and the Teacher

If you ask an ESFJ what they wanted to be as a kid, “teacher” comes up more than anything else by far. ESFJ kids like being where people are. They like being known. They like being needed. And they like environments where everyone has a place and a rhythm. A classroom has all of that: Bells, desks, routines and faces you see every day. A sense that what you do matters to other humans in very direct ways.

They also love the dream of being the person who knows what’s coming next. Page numbers. Due dates. When it’s time to sit down. When it’s time to line up. For an ESFJ child, the smell of sharpened pencils is satisfying. The sense of order, structure and routine in the classroom gives a sense of purpose and meaning.

ESFJ kids are often the ones who make sure the system works so everyone stays on track. Someone needs to notice when a kid looks lost or left out or like they didn’t quite understand the directions.

The teacher fantasy is also about emotional safety. You get to create a space where people are encouraged, corrected gently, and reminded that they belong. You get to clap when someone does well. You get to redirect without humiliating. You get to keep things from devolving into emotional chaos. And then there’s the sensory satisfaction of pinning announcements to bulletin boards, attaching gold stars to homework done well, and reading out loud to a rapt audience.

For an ESFJ child who already feels responsible for group harmony, who already senses when the emotional temperature of a room is off, the teacher fantasy utilizes their very best strengths to make a difference every day.

INTJ and the Astronomer

If you ask an INTJ what they wanted to be as a kid, the answer is often something that pulls them away from the everyday and into something profound and cutting-edge. Astronomer. Scientist. Engineer.

INTJ kids are drawn to things that feel vast, mysterious, and governed by rules that don’t care how anyone feels about them. Space is perfect for that. It’s enormous. It’s unexplored. And it does not require small talk.

The astronomer fantasy isn’t really about stars in a sparkly, wish-upon-a-constellation way. It’s about distance. Perspective. The relief of stepping far enough back that human nonsense stops dominating the picture. When you’re looking at galaxies, the social drama of second grade loses some of its power.

INTJ children tend to notice early on that a lot of people react before they think. They see inefficiency, emotional overcomplication, rules that don’t actually make sense. Space, by contrast, obeys laws. Predictable ones. Elegant ones. You can trust gravity. You can trust orbits. You can trust that if something moves, it does so for a reason.

There’s also a quiet thrill in being the one who understands something most people don’t. While everyone else is focused on what’s right in front of them, you’re thinking about what’s coming next. Or what’s always been there, unnoticed.

The childhood appeal of astronomy is that it rewards patience. Long nights. Careful observation. The willingness to sit with silence and darkness and not panic. INTJ kids are often better at that than anyone gives them credit for. After all, in the darkness without any interruptions, their intuition comes alive with ideas and insights.

The astronomer dream also captures a longing that is shared among all introverted intuitive types: a desire to understand the architecture of reality. To know how everything fits together so you don’t feel constantly blindsided by chaos. If you can map the stars, maybe you can map life. Or at least parts of it.

For an INTJ child who already feels a low-grade frustration with how irrational the world can be, the astronomer fantasy isn’t escapism. It’s a hope that somewhere out there, things make sense.

INFJ and the Wizard

If you ask an INFJ what they wanted to be as a kid, you’ll sometimes get something practical if they think you’re testing them. Writer. Artist. Counselor. But if you catch them off guard, or ask the way you ask a child, the answer drifts sideways.

Wizard. Mystic. Someone who knows things.

INFJ kids often feel like they arrived in the world already half a step removed from it. They’re watching more than participating. Listening between sentences. Noticing the emotional weather patterns no one else seems to register. Who’s pretending? Who’s hurting? What’s about to go wrong before it actually does?

The wizard fantasy might make you think about wands and pointy hands, but that’s not what it’s about for the INFJ. At least not entirely (who wouldn’t want a flowing robe?) It’s about insight. About having access to hidden knowledge. About being the one who understands why things are happening when everyone else is still arguing about what just happened.

A wizard doesn’t rush in swinging. A wizard observes, meditates and ponders. They intervene only when it matters. INFJ kids like that idea. The power of restraint. The sense that wisdom is what actually changes outcomes. The idea that silence and concentration and calm are strengths to be harnessed.

There’s also something comforting about the distance. Wizards live on the edge of the village. Slightly apart. Needed, but not constantly surrounded. INFJ children often feel overwhelmed by too much closeness, too much noise, too many emotional demands. The wizard fantasy says, you can care deeply and still have space. You can help without being consumed.

And INFJs will totally relate to how wizards are often misunderstood. Consulted in crisis; ignored the rest of the time. INFJ kids already recognize that pattern. They already feel like the one people turn to for advice and then don’t really listen to. The fantasy gives that experience meaning instead of just loneliness.

They want their gifts to finally make sense in the world. They’re the ones seeing connections, writing in dream journals, understanding cycles, and saying the thing no one wants to hear but secretly knows is true.

There’s also a moral dimension to it. Wizards are supposed to be careful with their power. INFJs feel that weight early on. If I know this, what am I responsible for? If I can see what’s coming, what do I owe the people who can’t?

For an INFJ child who already feels like they’re carrying invisible knowledge, the wizard fantasy is about finally having a role that explains why they are the way they are.

ENTJ and the CEO

If you ask an ENTJ what they wanted to be as a kid, the answer usually involves being the one in charge of making the big decisions: CEO, boss, president, entrepreneur.

Adults tend to laugh at this. ENTJ kids notice and store it away.

But before you give into the stereotypical belief that ENTJs are power-hungry, let’s really look at this accurately. ENTJs don’t want to be cartoon villains unless they’re acting it out in a play. For them, the desire is about direction. About being the one who decides where things are going instead of constantly reacting to decisions made by other people who seem… less prepared. This really is the curse of being the ENTJ child. Seeing where things are going, intuiting patterns and making predictions, then seeing everyone go in the completely wrong direction.

ENTJ children pick up early on that systems matter. Who’s in charge matters. Whether the person leading actually knows what they’re doing matters a lot. They notice inefficiency the way some other types notice injustice. Something about it feels personally offensive.

The CEO fantasy is a way of correcting that. Of imagining a world where the person at the top is competent, decisive, and not afraid to make calls that everyone else is tiptoeing around. Where plans exist and momentum isn’t constantly stalled by indecision or endless discussion.

There’s also a strange kind of freedom in it. The freedom to act, build, and move things forward without waiting for permission from people who don’t see the bigger picture anyway.

ENTJ kids often feel an internal pressure to step up even when no one has asked them to. They’re the ones organizing games on the playground. Assigning roles and getting irritated when no one listens and then taking over anyway because someone has to.

And honestly there’s a bit of loneliness to it as well. Being the one who sees the path forward means you’re often ahead of everyone else, looking back and wondering why they’re not coming with you yet. The CEO fantasy smooths that loneliness out by turning it into purpose.

ENFJ and the President

If you ask an ENFJ what they wanted to be as a kid, “president” comes up more often than you’d expect. Sometimes it’s said with total seriousness. Sometimes with a laugh, like they’re already bracing for someone to tell them that’s unrealistic or cute or a little much.

ENFJs imagine bringing unity and connection back to a world that seems fractured and on the verge of implosion. They imagine standing in front of people, talking to them, and really pulling them into something larger than themselves. They want that influence; to really make a difference and help people feel empowered and part of a bigger journey.

ENFJ children are deeply aware of group morale. They notice when people are discouraged, divided, checked out. They also notice how much words matter. One speech can calm a room, make someone sit up straighter, or change an entire life trajectory.

The president fantasy is a way of scaling that up. What if you could do that for everyone? What if you could say the right thing at the right time and steer the whole group toward something better?

There’s also a strong sense of responsibility baked into it. Presidents are supposed to care. They’re supposed to represent people, protect values, make decisions that affect millions. ENFJ kids feel that weight early. If I have influence, I should use it well. If people are listening, I should say something that helps.

And ENFJs also tend to naturally take to leadership. But they see the difference in how they approach it. For them, power isn’t about making orders and exerting dominance. It’s about being strong and compassionate at the same time, even if real life keeps trying to prove otherwise.

ENFJ kids often feel pulled toward the emotional center of any group. Mediating. Encouraging. Rallying. Sometimes exhausting themselves in the process. The president fantasy offers a frame where that constant emotional labor finally makes sense. Instead of being over-involved, they’re involved in the future of their people. Instead of being “dramatic” they’re being persuasive and influential for the greater good. Instead of being idealistic or “dreamy,” they’re imparting hope to people who need the vision of a brighter tomorrow.

For an ENFJ child who already feels responsible for how people are doing, the idea of being president is about believing that caring, at scale, could actually change something.

ISTP and the Firefighter

When I talked to ISTPs about their childhood career dreams, most answered firefighter or something adjacent like pilot, mechanic, or action hero. But firefighter hits the sweet spot where danger, skill and usefulness overlap.

ISTP kids are usually not dreaming about saving the world in a moral sense. They’re not trying to make speeches or appeal to someone’s better angels. They’re dreaming about being capable. About being the person who doesn’t freeze when something goes wrong. About stepping into chaos and knowing exactly what to do with their hands.

Firefighters don’t have to deal with small talk or networking (thank God). They train, show up, and use tools. They move toward the problem instead of circling it with feelings and lectures (something ISTPs are so sick of). And they get to help people in a real, practical way that actually utilizes their strengths of observation and responsiveness. For an ISTP child, this feels like a fantasy built for them.

There’s also something appealing about the straightforwardness of the whole situation. Fire is bad. People are in danger. You go in. You get them out. No politics. No meetings. No endless discussion about how everyone feels about the fire. The fire does not care. You deal with it anyway.

ISTP kids tend to have a high tolerance for intensity: loud noises, heat, risk, adrenaline. Their nervous systems don’t spike the way other kids’ do. They get quieter. More focused. Firefighting turns that trait into something useful instead of alarming.

Firefighters are also allowed to disappear between crises. Long stretches of waiting. Fixing gear. Playing cards. No one expects you to perform emotionally the whole time. For an ISTP child who already needs space and autonomy, this feels merciful.

ISFP and the Artist

If you ask an ISFP what they wanted to be as a kid, “artist” comes up early and often.  Sometimes musician. Sometimes dancer. Also, someone who works with endangered animals (that almost made it to first place!).

ISFP kids are usually aware, very early on, that their inner world doesn’t line up neatly with what’s rewarded. They have deep, rich inner feelings, but struggle to express them in a world that doesn’t see them as “sensible.” They notice beauty in small, sensory ways. Colors. Sounds. Textures. Things that other people miss.

The artist fantasy is about permission to notice what you notice. Permission to respond emotionally without having to justify it. Permission to turn feeling into something tangible instead of letting it sit, unexpressed, like a weight in your chest. I’ve known so many ISFPs who turned to creative jobs like art, tattoo design, or even pottery as a way of bringing their intense inner worlds out into the open.

ISFP children often experience the world through their senses first. The smell of paint. The feel of clay. The way music vibrates through the body. Art gives those sensations somewhere to go, turning overwhelm into focus and chaos into form.

There’s also safety in the expression of art. It doesn’t demand explanations. You don’t have to debate it or defend it or make it make sense to other people. You can just create in your own private, mysterious way, and let the work speak on your behalf. For an ISFP child who already feels exposed by too much attention, that matters. And there’s also a freedom in being allowed to follow inspiration when it arrives instead of forcing productivity on a schedule that feels wrong in your bones.

ESTP and the Stunt Performer

If you ask an ESTP what they wanted to be as a kid, the answer usually involves motion. Stunt performer. Race car driver. Warrior. Something where the body is doing the thinking and fear is treated like a puzzle instead of a warning sign.

ESTP wants to try things, to jump off stuff, to test gravity. They learn very quickly what hurts and what doesn’t and then file that information away for later use. Their curiosity lives in their muscles, not in classroom lectures or notebooks.

The stunt performer fantasy is about proving something, not just to others, but to themselves. Can I do this? Can I land it? Can I stay calm when everything goes sideways? ESTP kids want to know what they’re capable of, and the fastest way to find out is to put themselves in situations where hesitation has consequences. Either you make the jump or you don’t. Either you stick the landing or you don’t. No one can talk their way out of it. No one can overthink it into submission. The body tells the truth immediately.

ESTP kids are often told to slow down. Be careful. Sit still. Think it through. Which only reinforces the fantasy. Because in the stunt world, speed is skill. Awareness is physical. Thinking too much actually makes things worse. Finally, there’s a place where their instincts aren’t a liability.

And then there’s the freedom of momentum. Here they finally get to trust their reflexes. They have freedom to feel fully inside the moment instead of hovering above it wondering how it will turn out. ESTP kids feel most alive when the present moment demands everything they’ve got.

For an ESTP child who already feels caged by too much caution and too many warnings, the stunt performer fantasy is about finally being trusted to move at full speed.

ESFP and the Performer

If you ask an ESFP what they wanted to be as a kid, it’s usually something that involves a stage. Actor. Singer. Dancer. Sometimes it’s just “famous,” which adults love to roll their eyes at, completely missing the point. For ESFPs, vanity isn’t what matters here. It’s being and feeling fully alive and in the center of the action.

ESFP kids feel things in their bodies first. Excitement, joy, sadness, embarrassment. It all shows up loud and fast. Performing gives those feelings somewhere to go. A place where those big impulses aren’t a problem, but the whole job.

The performer fantasy is about connection. It’s about sharing that energy that bubbles up inside of you instead of it getting stuck inside you with nowhere to land. ESFP kids are wired for that exchange.

ESFP children are often told they’re too much. Too loud. Too dramatic. Too rambunctious. My ESFP friend once told me that she was constantly told to sit in a corner as a child because she was too “ADHD” even though she was never diagnosed with that. She felt like a caged bird. Performing flips that script. Suddenly those same traits are assets. Charisma is a skill. Expressiveness is a strength. Joy is something you can give, not something you have to shrink. Energy keeps you on top.

And there’s the freedom to be fully present. To live in the moment without apology. To let your face, your voice, your body say what words alone can’t manage. ESFP kids don’t fantasize about disappearing into the background. They fantasize about finally being allowed to show up as they are. And on top of that, performers make other people feel something: less alone, more alive, and distracted from their own worries for a few minutes. ESFP kids intuitively understand that joy can be a form of care.

For an ESFP child who already feels the pulse of life running straight through them, the performer fantasy is about sharing the electricity instead of holding it all inside.

INTP and the Scientist

If you ask an INTP what they wanted to be as a kid, “scientist” comes up with surprising frequency. Inventor. Person who does experiments. Several INTPs mentioned librarian to me; they liked the idea of quiet being a rule everyone must follow in their 9-5 life.

INTP kids are usually less interested in doing things and more interested in understanding them. They want to know why the toaster works. Why ants walk in lines. Why the sky changes color. Why adults say things they clearly don’t mean. The world feels like a puzzle someone scattered across the floor and then forgot to include the picture on the box.

The scientist fantasy is a way of promising yourself that someday, you’ll get answers. Or at least better questions. A lab. A notebook. A place where curiosity and skepticism isn’t punished or seen as annoying, it’s the whole point. Where taking something apart isn’t destructive, it’s research.

INTP children often feel out of sync with the urgency around them. Everyone else seems very invested in schedules, rules and outcomes. Meanwhile, you’re still thinking about the implications of something someone said three hours ago. Science offers a slower rhythm. Observation. Hypothesis. Testing. Time to think before you’re expected to speak.

There’s also a quiet comfort in the impersonality of it. Data doesn’t take things personally. Experiments don’t get offended. Results don’t require emotional management. For an INTP child who already feels exhausted by social expectations they don’t fully understand, this is a relief.

And of course there’s imagination too, even if it doesn’t look like dragons or capes. Science is basically sanctioned wonder. You get to ask absurd questions. You get to chase ideas down rabbit holes. You get to imagine alternate explanations for reality and see if any of them hold up.

INTP kids are often accused of being detached. What’s usually happening is that they’re deeply engaged, just not in an obvious way. Their attention is turned inward, assembling models of how things fit together. The scientist fantasy gives that inner absorption a name and a purpose.

INFP and the Writer

If you ask an INFP what they wanted to be as a kid, “writer” comes up a lot. It’s interesting to see the way INFPs express this. Some are confident about it, others mutter it almost apologetically, many look wistful and a bit sad. Frustratingly, I’ve seen INFPs dreams and aspirations diminished as “too impractical” or “not profitable enough” for many years.

INFP kids live in stories and imaginative worlds before they live in plans. Everything feels symbolic. Every interaction has emotional subtext. Every disappointment feels like a chapter in a saga. Writing isn’t a hobby so much as a way to survive having that much interior life without combusting.

The writer fantasy is about having somewhere to put all of it. The feelings that don’t have an obvious outlet. The questions that don’t land well in conversation. The moral complexity that doesn’t fit into neat answers adults seem weirdly satisfied with. On the page, you can slow things down and tell the truth without being interrupted.

INFP children often feel misunderstood because language feels insufficient in real time. Writing lets you revise. Clarify. Say the thing you couldn’t articulate when someone was staring at you waiting for a response. It gives your inner world the dignity of coherence.

There’s also a deep longing for goodness in it. Writers get to imagine better outcomes. Kinder people. Worlds where meaning isn’t an accident. Where suffering isn’t pointless. INFP kids aren’t naïve about pain. They’re just unwilling to accept that it’s all there is.

And, of course, there’s some healthy escapism mixed into the fantasy as well. Books are portals. Stories are doors. Writing offers a way out of rooms that feel too loud, too shallow or too demanding. It turns everyday lived hardships into things you can look at from another safe space instead of drowning in.

INFP children are often told they’re unrealistic. Too sensitive. Too idealistic. Writing flips that accusation on its head. Suddenly sensitivity is perception and depth, idealism is vision, and imagination is the whole point.

For an INFP child who already feels the ache of wanting the world to be better than it is, the writer fantasy is a quiet act of hope.

ENTP and the Entrepreneur

If you ask an ENTP what they wanted to be as a kid, the answer tends to be a dozen things, not just one. My ENTP daughter listed “Farmer, vet, dentist, scientist, paleontologist, baker, doctor, inventor, gymnast.” If you’re talking about this to an ENTP child, you might get a rambling pitch that starts with one thing and ends somewhere completely different, because they had a better idea halfway through explaining the first one.

The entrepreneur fantasy comes up a lot, though. This gives them autonomy and a sense of possibility. It’s about not being trapped inside someone else’s system when you can clearly see at least five ways it could be better, faster, more interesting, or at the very least less boring.

ENTP kids notice early on that rules are often arbitrary. That authority is frequently underqualified. That a lot of systems limp along simply because no one has questioned them loudly enough yet. This realization is both thrilling and deeply irritating.

Entrepreneurship becomes the answer to that irritation. You don’t have to wait or ask permission or check the manual. You can just… try something. Build it. Test it. Break it. Pivot. Do it again but smarter this time.

ENTP children are idea factories. Their minds jump tracks constantly because everything connects to everything else. The fantasy of being an entrepreneur says you don’t have to pick just one thing forever. You can chase curiosity wherever it leads and call that a business model.

There’s also a strong desire for autonomy baked into it. ENTP kids hate being micromanaged and told to stick to the plan when the plan is clearly inferior to the new one they just thought of thirty seconds ago. Entrepreneurship offers a world where improvisation is a guiding feature instead of a flaw.

And then there’s a bit of fun and performance to it as well. They get to pitch ideas, convince people, and negotiate. ENTPs enjoy the dance of persuasion, the spark when someone else lights up because they finally see what you see.

ENTP kids aren’t afraid of failure in the way other kids are. Instead, they’re afraid of stagnation. Of being stuck inside a life that never gets questioned or reimagined.

For an ENTP child who already feels repulsed by rigidity and weirdly energized by uncertainty, the entrepreneur fantasy offers a way of staying awake in a world that keeps trying to put things on autopilot.

ENFP and the Explorer

If you ask an ENFP what they wanted to be as a kid, “explorer” comes up in one form or another. Sometimes it’s literal. Traveling the world. Discovering new places. Sometimes it’s disguised as archaeologist, adventurer or journalist. Occasionally it’s just “I don’t want to stay here forever,” which is not technically a job but absolutely the point.

ENFP kids feel possibility in their bones. The world does not feel finished to them. It feels expandable. Like there are secret doors everywhere and most people are walking past them with their heads down, late for something that doesn’t even matter.

The explorer fantasy is about openness. The idea that life could be bigger than the routine you’ve been handed. That meaning might be waiting somewhere else. Or everywhere, if you keep moving long enough to notice it.

ENFP children tend to feel boxed in early. The rules always feel too small for how much curiosity they’re carrying. Sit still. Focus. Pick one thing. Stay on task. The explorer fantasy is a polite refusal of all of that.

Explorers get to follow curiosity without apologizing for it. They get to ask questions. Meet people. Collect stories. Change direction mid-journey because something interesting caught their attention and that’s reason enough. For an ENFP child, that sounds like oxygen.

There’s also a deep relational component that gets overlooked. ENFPs don’t just want to see places. They want to understand people. How different lives work. What matters to someone who grew up somewhere else. Exploration is empathy with legs.

And it also appeals to their idealist side. In exploration there’s a belief that if you keep moving, keep learning, keep opening yourself to new perspectives, something meaningful will reveal itself. That stagnation is the real danger. That staying curious is a moral act.

ENFP kids are often told they’re scattered. Unrealistic. Too much. The explorer fantasy reframes that. Suddenly, flexibility is adaptability. Curiosity is intelligence. Restlessness is a sign that you’re paying attention.

For an ENFP child who already feels the pull of a thousand possible lives, the explorer fantasy is the hope that following wonder will eventually lead somewhere that feels like home.

What If Those Childhood Dreams Still Point the Way?

Maybe it’s time to dust off a few of those childhood dreams. They were never just fantasies — they were clues to what lights you up inside. If you’re curious how those early ambitions connect to the person you’ve become, take Truity’s Career Aptitude Test and see what new paths might be waiting for you… perhaps the one the 10-year-old you imagined all along.