a real hug

It’s all about personal space…personal space, of course, being a cultural construct and one that most people aren’t particularly aware of until their space is juxtaposed against  other people’s, whose national, regional, and/or familial culture of personal space is different from their own.  I remember being in France/Switzerland back in the 2004-2005 and just craving a good, solid hug.  Mostly because, there, people exchange “bisous,” light kisses on either cheek when greeting each other (and saying goodbye).  As an American, I found this rather uncomfortable at first.  I mean, the face is an intimate space, right?  And here I am exchanging bisous with near strangers because you generally exchange the bisous with friends and friends of friends (when you’re introduced), and anybody that shows up to a party and even your colleagues after New Year.  In fact, it can be quite comical when someone arrives at a house party kind of late because they’ll often go around and exchange bisous with everyone.  This same process ensues when people leave each other as well.  It’s so dainty and polite.  Ironically, it grew on me so much that when I returned to the States, I kind of missed it.  (Lucky for me, the tango community does the whole bisous thing AND hugs!)

However, at the end of the day, bisous just aren’t entirely satisfying for me like a really good hug is.  [While thinking about all this hugging, I found this article from Psychology Today “Handshake or Hug? Why We Touch“]  While I was living in France, I started dancing tango a lot more and found that in the close embrace, I got the closest thing to a hug that I would mostly have.  Because at the end of the day, the French don’t even really have a word for “hug.”  Hugs aren’t things that are exchanged between friends and acquaintances.  They have the word “etreinte” signifying “embrace” but this whole concept of embracing someone is reserved for lovers….or the “calins” given to kids.

And when something isn’t culturally applicable, it’s pretty awkward when attempted.  For instance, towards the end of the school year, I was out with a group of female teachers for a picnic birthday celebration.  Over the course of the afternoon, the question came up about what I missed most from the States.  Of course, peanut butter, cranberry juice, and reeses peanut butter cups were all mentioned, but I also mentioned how much I missed a good hug.  So it was to my utter surprise at the end of the afternoon when they each gave me a departing hug–much to their obvious cultural discomfort.  It was a sweet gesture albeit awkward and stiff….  To the same end, when I’ve returned to Geneva to see friends, I always instinctively want to give them a big hug, until I remember just before contact that that would be strange and awkward for them–so I resort to bisous.  Cultural relativism at its best.

Where is all this coming from?  Well, the other night when I had my spontaneous, after-milonga, dancing night out with N__ (which I wrote about in a previous entry traveling encounters), we got to that awkward, end-of-the-night moment.  You know, the one where you’re dropping the person off….  Anyway, after thanking each other for the dancing, he looks at me and asks, “Do you want a hug?”   Huh?!? I was disarmed for a moment, but quickly recovered, answering “Sure.”   However, when I went to lean over the middle to give him a hug, he said, “No.  A stand up hug” and hopped out of the car.  Ummmm…okay.  I stepped out of the car onto the street and got (and hopefully offered) one of those really awesome hugs.   The real ones–fun, sincere, all-embracing, safe….  I even got swept off my feet (literally) and put back on the ground.  And that potentially strange moment became a big gift.  Reminded me of a time when I had only given a half hug at the end of a date in New York.  It was someone I was good friends with, but I wasn’t sure about that moment of saying goodbye.  So I gave one of those non-committed hugs.  Luckily, I wasn’t allowed to get away with it because L___ said, “Give me a real hug.”   So I gave him a real hug and received one in return.  The kind of hugs my dad used to give–the kind full of joy.  Below is the poem that grew out of that moment a few years ago.  So get out of the car or off your chair and give someone a real hug.

a real hug

he said give me a real hug

and suddenly I was lost

in that liminal space

between present and past

and the distance of

arms reaching out

to embrace my dad

six-years gone

 

my father who knew

what a real hug was

sweeping me off the floor

arms strong and sure

all protection and freedom

with laughing eyes

to tell me i’m loved

 

i’m loved in this moment

today—arms thrown

around your neck

laughing in my sense

of the safety and delight

of your arms

wrapped around me

 

24 august 2007

 

November 8, 2010

Ames, Iowa