The Case for PDA

I believe my early frigidity was just my nature. Couple that with society's embedded etiquette of politically correct touching and Voila! Hugging me was akin to a rigid fishstick standoff. Try to hold my hand? I'd wriggle out of it lickity split. Touching or hugging outside of my immediate trusted family was about as appealing to me a  as the dreaded command to "Kiss and make up" with a brother or sister I've just brawled with.

But that was then. These days, I do believe I could hug a Michelin tire. A lot of the credit for this PDA about-face goes to a massage therapist/friend that I met at a North Carolina herb shop I had 15 years ago. We offered therapeutic procedures in addition to alternative medicine. Linda would come in twice a week to perform massages and reflexology. She always hugged me when we greeted and would touch my arm in conversation. I found both to be wildly uncomfortable. There was no threat involved, but I perceived the touch as such, or at least of questionable intent.

For the next six months I learned a lot about the art of reflexology, touch, and massage from Linda. One customer who intrigued me was a quiet, demure lady who came in bimonthly for a massage. After a few sessions, I noticed that she would wipe silent tears away as she browsed the store. I asked Linda one night: "Why does she cry after she comes out of her session?" Linda replied, "She's in a touchless marriage. She's crying because she has to pay for what should be a free gift." I watched this lady cocoon over the next several months. She was still saddened sometimes after her massage, but she became genuinely and expressively involved with familiar contacts in our classes and visits. Linda gave sports therapy massages to some hockey players in the shop as well. I was taken aback on several occasions with the post-massage demeanor of these rough-and-tumble guys. Linda also visited the nursing homes in the area. She told me that the quality of their lives was enhanced by touch as well. The mere absence of spousal affection and children or grandchildren's touch can too quickly remove them from the world around them, and her massages seek to reverse that.

Of my own reversal, it didn't happen overnight and often, I mentally evaluate how far I have come. I can grab a friend's hand and walk, hug and mean it, receive hugs, believe them, and determine intentions of a hug. The simple act of hugging, coupled with the proximity of closeness, eradicated the stigma of bad or mysterious touch, replacing it with endearing endorphins.

Senses associated with close, life-enhancing touch come back to my mind. The heads and necks of my children and grandchildren in the crook of my arm, the finger placed under the nostrils of my sleeping children to feel their breath, the clutch of the arm of a friend signifying a funny event or a fright, the soft skin of my grandmother's forearm, an aunt that was really glad to see me. I am reminded of my oldest granddaughter. One of her first signature traits of personal expression to me was to hold my hand and try to wedge her tiny fingers into the space underneath my fingernails at the early age of 6 months. I believe she wanted to be closer to me than touch could actually bring her. She still does this sometimes and she is 15 years old now.

I think we could learn something from the animal kingdom. I'm not saying we should preen each other like monkeys, but consider this as a takeaway: They are so familiar with their tribe or herd that they can sense compassion, passion, threats, and fear through touch and smell. There are about 100 touch receptors in each human fingertip. For all intents and purposes, touch is the connector and receptor that links us to each other, and in turn, to each other's well-being.

“Our task must be to free ourselves by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty.” — Albert Einstein