Tonight I hung out with three fabulous individuals. One I know and love. One I only knew through text, but I knew he was lovely. And the other I met this evening. We all met in a venue I love, owned and run by a man who knows my name. I love familiarity. The last ten years have seen me in new places with new people, but I love knowing a large percentage of the equation.

When I was in my early twenties I loved going to parties with friends, so that I would have a safety blanket to improvise off of. Now, living 10,000km away from my nearest and dearest, I find familiarity in odd places.

As I walked home tonight from a venue I love, I looked at the cobble stones. I looked at the graffiti. I looked even at the window dressing of a clothes shop I have never been into. I knew them all. And they made me safe. The seasonal markets make me feel safe. The streets I have walked down daily for years…. make me feel safe.

I speak little of the language. But this country has always made me feel safe.

We crave, and are made safe by familiarity. And this is a great thing. Until it entices us to label the unfamiliar less worthy of love.