I know my own and my own know me.
If you’re familiar with Latin, or familiar with etymology, you know that the ever-so familiar word we know as “familiar” comes from the not-so-familiar, Latin,
familiaris. Literal translation, “of a household.” Think family, kin, relatives, reunions, Weird Uncle Henry.
To be familiar with something or someone is be like a family member with that something or someone. Which can be terrifying. Or assuring. If you’re familiar with something or someone, you’re bound together by more than casual acquaintance – more than superficial contact, more than the information you find on a job application.
“Familiarity breeds contempt… and children,” wrote Mark Twain. And what the old riverboat renegade was saying is that when you get familiar, you inevitably get down and dirty. You move past the façade and into the filth. Past the pretense and into the poop. But, if you can stand the stench of familiarity, you just might create some new life.
The secrets of familiarity are eternal because no one can ever know everything about anyone. The secrets go on and on. A case could be made that familiarity is the final frontier – taking you boldly where no man has gone before. And the discoveries made there can rock your world.