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”?

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