When he admitted that he didn't know the first thing about me, I suppose it was reassuring, because I'd told him this adamantly several times now. But when I stopped to think about it, I wondered whether I shouldn't take it as cause for concern. Does it give me actual pride when people say I'm a mystery to them? I'm not sure if it's as extreme as pride, but certainly I'll admit to feeling some validation of the part of me that always keep watch on the world around, always disappointed at the apparent scarcity of people with similar mixtures of idiosyncrasies. Be that as it may, two thoughts come to mind. For one, me being a mystery is not to be confused with me being interesting to other people, and in fact, the opposite is likely closer to the truth. For another, and this deflates the bubble, I have to say that most of the time the mystery arises due to willing obfuscation on my part. I have a litany of excuses for why this has been the case of late, but one that I must reluctantly allow for is that I'm worried that if I open up, I'll find that I'm less interesting than I thought. So, locked away with the conviction that I'm some lost treasure, or embracing the possibility that I'm really no-one; didn't I solve this dilemma already?