Could you please stay out of my aura

With the first glass of chardonnay, the distance becomes a little smaller, under glass four it skirts dangerously close, until the person in question starts to invade my aura. That's how it feels. How should I put it? My personal space is... personal. I stopped cuddling around the age of twelve, much to my mother's dismay, and each year my aura grew a little larger. Hugging and finishing with a kiss is the new handshake in Amsterdam, so I've gotten used to that, but I still prefer distance. It has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with me. I tolerate very few people in my aura, not to be confused with the colored variant that you can apparently see. I'm just talking about the emotional space I need.

Your aura aka personal space can sometimes cause friction. For me, this mainly concerns the friction of another aura in mine, but it can also be the other way around. The aura seems to be a kind of territory; essentially, this is just about my territorial instinct. As if I'm creating little puddles around myself to ensure that everyone stays a bit out of it. Every person has a portable territory. Sounds funny, as if you don't just put on your jeans in the morning, but also your aura.

A vague acquaintance who is fumbling in your portable territory is annoying but completely normal, because we fundamentally have two clear needs: solitude and companionship. Additionally, one is often introverted and the other extroverted. With both, you deal with auras. But, also funny, distance provides more information. You can read someone better, and this fades as that person gets closer, making it harder to see. It's about your perception and it gives a sense of control because you can oversee everything better.

At nine o'clock in the morning, I was at the beach. I threw my hammam towel over a sunbed, tossed my bag in the sand, and set off for some laps in the Aegean Sea. After my morning exercise, I was drying off between the sunbeds, which, just to be clear, were all empty. Just then, a man decides to lie down right on the sunbed behind me. But why? How? ’Why sooooo,‘ I wanted to scream at him. You have thirty-six empty beds over a distance of about a hundred meters. Why, monsieur? Two hours later, every bed was occupied, but that wasn't the point then. This also seems to relate to my need for space. If someone chooses a spot close to you, it feels like that person is intruding. Well, there was definitely an intrusion at my sunbed and umbrella. Goodness...

I even found a table that clearly states what is normal in centimeters. So, zero to fifteen is exclusively for your intimates, fifteen to forty-five centimeters is for very good friends, and forty-five to seventy-five centimeters is reserved for people we like and know well. Everything from a meter is unknown and distant. But it also has everything to do with the angle, because if you sit next to me, I find it perfectly fine and cozy at thirty centimeters, but if you're standing thirty centimeters across from me talking, there's a chance I'll take a step aside, towards the bar or exit. Hmm, maybe I should ask the beach lady to move those beds a bit apart next time.

Source: FD