I tend to see the world through an Ansel Adams photographic lens, that is to say, “black and white”. While I keep attempting to inject a wider spectrum of gray into my two toned, “right vs. wrong”, “love vs. hate” world, it’s been consistent uphill struggle.

I believe boundaries to be an important part of life. Comfort zones. Deal breakers. The disclosure of privileged information. Whether they indicate the point at which a relationship reaches the end of its emotional tether or simply the line that, once crossed, lands you swiftly in an Iranian jail and resulting in years of imprisonment followed by equally scary Lisa Ling interviews upon release – boundaries, if not clearly marked, can be precarious places.  

My therapist likened healthy emotional boundaries to the idyllic image of a house surrounded by a manicured lawn and bounded one each side by a picket fence. The fence is a clearly defined, yet semi permeable structure erected to keep undesirables at bay (i.e. negative pressures, cognitive trespassers, basically the in-laws of the emotional community); while still allowing for the option of admittance of positive emotions, constructive monologues and affirmative influences, (i.e. the puppies and kittens or free range hens romping about our mental yard).

After describing this Zen-like state of mental health to which she recommended I strive, she took a deep breath. Scarlett, at present your “house” is surrounded on the north, south and west by a 10 foot high brick wall, laced with barb wire. The east side, however, not only is void a wall, but any clear demarcation of property whatsoever. Moreover, you have posted a neon, blinking, “open-house” sign out front exposing the lawn to many an unwelcome trampler.

That is to say, either you go to inexorable lengths to keep people out, or you lay out the red carpet all too quickly, consequences be damned. A situation very much in need of modification.

I took issue with this image for a number of reasons not least of which being the necessity for an immediate change of setting from a suburban, “Leave It To Beaver” avec picket fence to one of a urban penthouse condo with a 24 door man. But that’s besides the point.

Whether we’re talking about 24-hour door men and alarm systems or brick walls and picket fences, both images denote unhealthy extremes, the hallmark of a black & white worldview. Either I’m walled up like Fort Knox, or I am constructing an emotional superhighway for which I have not even thought to charge a toll. More often than not I frantically switch between the two exhausting both myself and those around me.

All this to say, I met someone. He’s kind of great. I like him. Comfort zones have been pushed. Boundary lines obscured. Needless to say, I’m more than a little bit freaked out and those brick walls with their height and strength and ability to obscure look mighty appealing in the face of vulnerability. And so up and down I go in on the "he loves me, he loves me not", "I'm safe, I'm going to get hurt." yo yo.

Its painfully elusive, this emotional balance. Can a boundary line be redrawn once crossed? Do I permit him to wander unchecked about upon my emotional real estate? Do I change the locks just in case?

Or do I stand here and first let my eyes adjust to the newly emerging shades of gray?

Frankly,