Silent Words of Intention

There is a large part of me that seems almost unmercifully curious. Even when facing potential harm, dangers or fears I have, my curiosity has always been one to push me far beyond my comfort zone to acquire the information I desire. The only exception in its aggression is that if it involves another living thing, it would not drive me beyond my desire to keep the peace or least my desire not to offend others. Usually at least.

I would gladly borderline insult those of whom I am unfamiliar with if it answers the questions I have in my head. Anyone close to being familiar would have the mercy of my built-in stopgap measures that strives so hard to be socially acceptable.

Rather than a fear of being insensitive, the fear of being invasive seems to be the greater force at play. Sure, there is fear of being rude by being insensitive. But when it comes to people I’m familiar with, there is always more a fear of invading more into their lives than they would prefer. Would my questions be probing to deep into their lives? Would my curiosity basically be an invasion of privacy? Would my interactions at all be a bothersome thing?

It is common to assume ‘no guts glory’ or ‘nothing ventured nothing gained’, but far too often, fear finds a way to bind me. And far too often, I find myself agreeing to the logic of what my fear provides.

Life as it is always ends up revolving around a delicate balance between what is acceptable and what is not. That balance is possibly the hardest thing on earth to gauge for me.

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