The first few mosquitos hovered around in the 8pm sun, but not around me.

They don’t like me.

That’s what I always cheerfully say when someone complains about mosquitos. I always feel a sense of pride for being left off of the menu. But I don’t think the exclusion is random. I’ve spoken that one right into truth.

The man standing before me, who the mosquitos had selected for dinner over me, stood squinting slightly, hand-over-brow, blocking the Alaskan gold from his eyes. He listened as I clumsily tried to explain how I learned to stop swinging between emotional extremes.

“Do you keep people at arms-length?”

I was surprised by the question, and refreshed by his directness.

“I bet you’re sharing more with me now than you usually do with other people”

False. But in a way, it was true. I knew he was listening with all his might, and although the curiosity felt like a strain for him, I took the opportunity to speak. My words and the cadence of my speech were uncoordinated. Still, I didn’t feel like his impression of me would shift, rather, I would remain a curiosity to be unpacked at his leisure, or my willingness.

It is rare that someone listens with the intent to know, rather than to speak. Most people listen to prepare to talk more about themselves to demonstrate their worth, seek validation, spill their stresses. Modern connection is twisted. Conversations are hardly reciprocal. Everyone is starving to be heard.

I suppose in a way it’s a perfect match for me. People are aching to be seen and I’ve been fearful of being seen.

It’s a fear of rejection. I always thought of how brave a man must be to take the risk of initiating contact. I used to be brave like that. Even more so, I’ve admired people who are unapologetically themselves without any effort. I know though, most people have to put in a great effort and few choose to try. A social mask is safer when the risk of judgment has been cultivated to be high.

So, they hide away, fearful of being honest, just like me, but craving to be transparent. Craving relaxation. Craving space. So for them, I am the perfect match. I am a neutral space. No judgment, just ears. And so, the river flows. The mask drops. They tell me everything. They feel relief, and wonder what happened.

I don’t need to fight for space. That’s not how I want to be. I want conversations built from curiosity. I want to be sought out, not purely just seen.

It can be lonely to wait for this quality. Many settle for spitting their attempts at connection against a wall, redefining what connection even is.

I wont settle, so I have become fearful. What happens when it’s my turn to talk?

But this week I was less so. I became willing to take up space. Abiding by social expectations for the comfort of others and avoidance of rejection has exhausted me.

The social mask has protected me, but from both genuine connection and the resilience borne of rejection. It has made it impossible for my body to heal. It is simply too much energy to keep up.

I think this is what has made a lot of people sick too.

Genuine connection is impossible with a mask or learned behavior. No one ever gets to know you. All the relationships you build are based on something fabricated. The depth can only extend so far. Without depth, curiosity has no motivation, and it dies. Connection without curiosity remains shallow…and draining.

It feels good to be met with curiosity as I let my own masking behaviors go. It feels like possibility for something long-lasting to manifest.

I forgot how it feels to be sought after, even in small ways. It’s nourishing. It’s healing. And so far, it’s been genuine.