My bag rolled into the scanner and stopped.

So did I. I'm traveling right now, and I noticed something at airport security.
I packed that bag myself. I know exactly what's inside. Nothing to hide.
And still — every time — a small tension as it disappears into the scanner. As if it's reading me, not the bag.
It stops on the belt. Waiting. Pass, or secondary check?

When it rolls clear — relief.

Strange. It's all mine. So why the fear of being judged?

I catch the same feeling stepping into anything new. A new relationship. A first real conversation with someone I might build something with.

I bring myself. I know myself. But the moment of being seen still tightens my stomach.

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