When I was young, I was convinced one of two things would happen: I would either die young or I would live ignorant. And I was allowed to believe it. I was careful, avoiding snakes, spiders, dirt, human beings, love. I horded books, enough to give myself a doctorate in any field. And I was called paranoid. Idiotic. A fool. Freak. Doomed. But, I kept living anyway. Destroyed, most of the strings in me cut. But living. And I was allowed to believe it was a gift.
Of course, this is a fiction, lie, metaphor, but the truth stands. Children are not born to be afraid. They are taught. Fear is conditioned. Rewarded. Considered a virtue. The wildness of youth is tromped upon by cleat-clad "caution." Gone are bright eyes, reckless smiles, heads thrown back. Life. Dull glances, insurance, cul-de-sacs, and bitten tongues reign. Fear. And fear is one of the deepest scars we can inflict upon another.
This story is not mine, though I have been the one to tell it. But I am human. An ocean. A fault line. A candle facing a storm. This tale, in some chisled fascet, mirrors my own. And it will continue as long as I draw breath.