Tending curiosity

Some of us are curiosity outliers. We chase down mystery, taking wild delight in knowing that every discovery contains more to be discovered.

We crave relationships where intimate curiosity is reciprocal. We love others by knowing them, and want to be known with the same warm valuing.

This is who we are, even in the grocery store, where the warmth in our tone and the directness of our questions confuse our fellow shoppers. Their faces ask, "Do I know you?"

Our intense curiosity also makes us highly sensitive, and vulnerable. Maybe in our desire to know, we run ahead of our defenses, and threats surprise us.

Over time, we begin to ask: Can I trust you? Can I trust that you really can see me — and that you really do like what you see? Can I trust that your loving curiosity will last, that you will not tire of me?

And so wariness moves in alongside openness.

First reactive wariness, which emerges instinctually. Have you hurt me? Yes? Slam the door and lock it. Do you look like someone who hurt me? Yes? Slam the door and lock it.

And then responsive wariness, a hard-earned skill. Move more slowly. Ask more questions. Remember that there are more options than just open or shut.

Prentiss Hemphill says that "boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me at the same time." Responsive wariness learns to measure that distance — and to trust its own measurements. Some things we need to keep at arm's length. Others need to be a continent away.

Wariness balances curiosity, and makes it safe to stay open. It builds and maintains the boundaries that allow for deep, satisfying relationships with the right people, in the right conditions.

Wariness is not a wall we hide behind; it is the sound of our boots, striding through a world that still, always, fascinates us.