HA·BIT·U·É

When I wrote this, I was working in Paris for about 3 months, and I would go to a little market nearby for groceries. One day that market was closed, and so I walked to the larger market, one that was actually nearer to my apartment, and where the groceries were quite a bit cheaper.

I asked myself, "Why is it that I am willing to walk farther for more expensive groceries in a market that offers less choice?"

Well, it was because the family-owned market knew who I was.  They remembered me, greeted me when I came through the door, and reminded me if I had forgotten to take something which I'd typically buy.  I wasn't anonymous to them anymore. I had become someone, to someone, in a foreign land.

There is something which we seek in our surroundings. A familiarity. We seek to be part of some community, or at least to feel a part of some thing. It gives us a sense of living. Of existing, I suppose. When we are far away from home, we seek to find the places where we can be regulars, because it gives us that sense of knowing, and of being known. Anti-anonymity.

I think today the piece serves as a bit of allegory, a light, yet painful take, on what it is to exist as "the other" in plain view.  How much it means to make friends.

And so, ha·bit·u·é