I am not a touchy person. I am one of those who has the three-foot personal space, or so it always was.
But apparently a change has gradually overtaken me. After spending six days away from my family, I felt so incredibly isolated that I could hardly stand it. It was like being stuck in a vortex of physical alienation.
The most difficult part of the day was being in a crowd, alone. When I got back to my darlings, I realized why.
We sat in the living room, leaning on each other. In our family, feet touch. Arms touch. Heads lean on my shoulders to say hello. Hugs happen randomly in passing.
I lay back on the couch and put my feet up on the two girls. I snoozed. They massaged my shins and feet, just for something to do, apparently. The sense of home returned.
So, although at my first conference I was not a hugger, this time around the pick-me-up each day was finding someone I know and love in the crowd and accepting a hug. It was badly needed for maintaining my sense of grounding.
So, thus says the standoffish curmudgeon: If you are someone who recently hugged me, thanks.