This blog being about space, I thought I’d deal with what’s an increasingly common situation in which the space between people is momentarily reduced to a bare minimum.
I’m talking about hugging, of course (what did you think I had in mind?).
Hugging appears to be on the rise, despite the fact that can be cumbersome, awkward and potentially embarrassing. I have literally poked in the nose someone I was attempting to greet with a hug. I’m sure something similar has happened to you.
Besides revealing my decreasing motor skills, hugging is an affront to my naturally reticent nature. Somehow, I must be conveying that predilection because many people I meet appear ready to launch a hug with me, but then back away and opt instead for the traditional handshake (which in itself is on furlough until the flu epidemic subsides).
A lot of people have misgivings about hugging, judging from what I read on the web. Online posters will confess to the world that they find hugging distasteful or, as someone chose to describe the gesture, “irksome.” That’s a good word, and it gets at my objections to hugging, but not quite.
I should digress for a moment to point out that I come from a family of non-huggers, so perhaps it’s a matter of genes. The fortunate among us learn hugging from our parents because that’s what parents do: hug us. Mine, however, not so much. My mom was restrained even on sun-filled days, but we’d hug every so often. While my father was ebullient and friendly (and a ballroom “pip,” according to his high school yearbook), he was not a hugger at all.
Hugging these days is proceeding full steam ahead and, unlike previous times of stress, it appears that hugging has become some kind of societal thumbs up. I’ve witnessed Starbucks barristas lean over the counter to hug customers. Rugby, a game of organized hugs, is growing in popularity. Ever notice that virtually everyone on television is always hugging everyone else? A lot of celebrity types appear to be constantly trying to hug themselves.
In my dramatically more mundane world, professional behavior has created a hugging protocol that is more ritualistic than heartfelt. The actual embrace goes down literally in an instant of arms entwined over shoulders, backs gently padded with the entire episode lasting no longer than, say, a lightning bolt. Before you know it, things are back to normal, and you move on to the business at hand.
The rest of the world holds American-style hugging in barely concealed contempt, even among cultures in which rubbing noses is a traditional greeting. And while it’s true that many Americans struggle with hugging, we are one nation, under God and indivisible in our loathing of European-style greetings (the ones with a kiss — on both cheeks, heaven help us — that is more like a bird poking at seed). Personally, I lke the traditional greeting in India, in which people join their hands with palms pressed together (Alec Guiness was a master at this in movies) to greet another person or pay respect to an elder. When a person joins his hands and says namaste, he actually says in humility, “I bow to God in you; I love you and I respect you, as there is no one like you.” How nice is that!
Misgivings aside, I am actually warming up to hugging as I enter my winter years. It feels young to me, and (although awkward), fresh, and I want to be au courant, so I’m finding myself embraced in frequent rapid fire hugs, some of which I have initiated. I wish there were more to it, though; more emotion, more actual true feelings of happiness at seeing someone. That’s difficult to do when you are about to confront your neighbor about the dog droppings left on your lawn — definitely not a hugging situation. Certainly, you wouldn’t want to make a habit of greeting the people you work with every day with a hug; it’s how rumors start.
And so, because we don’t often mean anything by our hug, hugging is becoming devalued. A gentle suggestion, then — one that will be taken up by no one — would be that we vow to reserve hugs for those times in our lives when we absolutely need personal contact. Like when we hit a walk-off home run or when two dear friends meet up at a high school reunion. I’ve long admired the no-holds-barred hugs members of the military receive in airport waiting rooms.
Hugs also can be the only response in certain situations. Years ago, when I was a reporter, I was covering a what everyone feared was a drowning. A boy had fallen into a swollen creek and a crowd had gathered when the boy’s head bobbed up to the surface. He was hauled onto the bank and his father came running, lifted up his child in his arms and squeezed him tight to his chest, holding on for dear life.
Hugs, reserved for the momentous occasions in our lives, are an acknowledgement of openness and vulnerability. In that sense, they are intensely human. If you’re willing to hug or be embraced, you are signaling that your guard is down, that your defenses are on hold, and that your heart is out from behind its hiding place. They are the currency exchange of intimacy, when we have nothing left to give but ourselves.
Those are the hugs we most remember, like the moment when my Dad, in his last night in the hospital, kidneys failing, heart faltering, called me close for one last — and first — hug.
