Familiarity Breeds Contempt

There’s a moment when someone I know becomes someone I’ve already figured out.

Their rhythm.

Their timing.

Their tone before the punchline.

The way they pause before making the same point, again.

The way their emotions show up in the same sequence every time.

And once I see the pattern, I lose interest. Fully.

Something just clicks off.

I’ve solved them. Figured them out.

And what use is a solved puzzle?

What’s left to discover?

When I know what you’re going to say, when I can predict your moods, your reactions, your conversational tics , I no longer feel like I’m speaking to a person.

I feel like I’m replaying a recording.

Even complexity, once predictable, becomes tedious.

All the once fascinating little idiosyncrasies become tiresome predictable annoyances.

We talk about “getting to know someone” like it’s the goal — as if familiarity is the prize.

But what if that’s the beginning of the end?

For me, mystery is oxygen.

If I can see the end of your sentence before you start it, if I can predict how you’ll laugh, when you’ll interrupt, what your apology will sound like I will feel claustrophobic.

Familiarity breeds contempt.

AND, It erodes curiosity.

And once I’m no longer curious, I’m no longer present.

You might still be talking.

I might still be nodding.

But I’ve already walked out.

I don’t feel guilty about this.

Some people stay fascinating. 

They surprise. 

They contradict themselves.

They collapse their own patterns and rebuild new ones.

Those are the ones I stay for.

But for everyone else, as soon as I’ve solved you, I no longer see you.

Sorry.