Comfort in Familiarity

Writing my last post got me thinking of the fondness we have for familiarity.

Writing about Bernice’s rolls reminded me of the time of a returning visit from an old friend who had moved away. On the weekend of her visit, she attended our church and after the service there was a potluck. On her way to the area of the church were the potlucks are held she came up to us (I was sitting with two friends) at the last pew commenting how everything is still the same. She then moved on the repeat the observation when coming to Bernice’s rolls at the end of the table; right where she left them. She seemed delighted to be surrounded by familiarity.

There is some of that in each of us. It is what makes our own beds comfortable and inviting above all others. The first night in your own bed after a long vacation is magical. Also when returning home from somewhere unfamiliar one of the first places we go to is our own restroom. Time has done this. We come to love those things we have a history with. We are most comfortable in familiarity.

Right now, I am living outside of my hometown and on returning to it, after an extended period of time, I enjoy driving through town. I go through the old downtown, through the older tree lined neighborhoods of unique houses (very different from the modern cookie-cutter track homes). It is especially nice to drive streets I know well, streets I have been traveling all my life. The people walking those streets even look familiar though they are strangers.