What is it about our secrets that causes us to hide them from the world? In and of themselves, they are just bits of information. Snippets of knowledge belonging to a larger context. Knowledge has no description except it is attributed to something else. Why does information about ourselves invoke feelings? Does a stop sign being red make you feel ashamed? Worried? Aren’t our secrets, by technicality, the same likeness of the color of the sign?
Why then do we hide our “colors”?
Boi Growing Up 