On Being Familiar
I tend to establish familiarity with people and places that I like. The restaurants I go to extend that familiarity back by letting me stay past closing time sometimes and even screen the occasional date for me, and bartenders at my favorite bar would often take shots with me or make it a point to clink glasses at least once in their shifts—almost like I exist outside the realms of protocols. The people that I like extend that familiarity back by letting me into areas of their lives where I don't often play a part, just to witness. I've often gotten comments about how I know a lot of people. I do, and I don't. I know versions of me around people, and there's only one version of me that I like, the soft version. I think there's a particular kind of intimacy in being allowed to exist beyond the purpose for which you were initially introduced. To no longer be just a customer who comes in to eat, a colleague who comes in to work, or a friend who occupies a particular, ...