San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
CAN WE EMBRACE A FUTURE WITH FEWER HUGS?
Even if we can’t reach out physically, we can still connect. Maybe a song would hit the right note
One of the most memorable scenes in sports history involves Jim Valvano, the North Carolina State University basketball coach. His team had just won the national championship, and Valvano was running around the court, looking for someone to hug.
Today, we’re all Jim Valvano.
The coach got plenty of hugs, eventually. For us, it’s complicated.
The coronavirus has robbed us of lives and livelihoods, but the lingering damage is more insidious. It may spend years eroding things that bring us joy, like hugs and smiles and spontaneity.
We need to reclaim them, in one form or another.
A Millennial friend misses hugs at all sorts of levels. She can’t embrace friends or even family members, and it’s a real challenge to date a new guy when you can’t even casually touch his hand.
“Even with platonic relationships, touch and being close triggers part of the brain and releases oxytocin,” Julia Bainbridge, who does a podcast called “The Lonely Hour,” said in an email. “Hugging reduces levels of stress hormones and, ultimately, helps us fight infection.”
Mark Schiavenza, treasurer of the Museo Italo Americano in San Francisco, longs for the
a hug often accompanied by kisses on both cheeks. “It is going to take some real discipline when we reopen.”
Even casual encounters are complicated. As I walked through our newsroom months ago, I said hi to Megan Cassidy, a reporter who’s about my mustache’s age. We barely knew each other, but I swore I saw a hint of a smile.
So I said something clever like “How’s it going?” figuring she could just say “good” if the old guy was hallucinating. But she didn’t take the escape route. We talked about a couple of things, including a column I wrote about going to happy hours with colleagues
of all ages. Now Megan is one of us.
Here’s the thing: That conversation wouldn’t have happened if we were wearing masks. The nonverbal cues wouldn’t have been there.
There are going to be a lot of lost moments this year. As if social distancing isn’t enough, the masks are giving us emotional distancing.
We’re also missing moments of spontaneity, like when a friend brings up something and you start riffing on it, and the room gradually fills with laughter.
My friend Mark Wright remembers a 1967 high school trip to Italy. The 33 of them sat around, restless, waiting for a meal. He and his buddy Alex tapped their knives to a vague beat.
“Slowly, it turned into something more recognizable,” Mark recalled, “as Alex looked at me and sang, ‘Imagine me and you.’ ”
Mark sang back, “I do.” Others gradually joined in. “The whole gang was on board by ‘I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you for all my life.’ ”
By the time they finished “Happy Together,” everyone was gesturing along and laughing. The locals didn’t understand the words, but they understood the joy.
Maybe our new spontaneity can come from Zoom, if we tweak it. Instead of meeting just to talk, when everyone needs to be “on,” play a game you enjoy but aren’t passionate about. If it turns into a rambling conversation rather than a battle for world dominance, chalk one up for spontaneity.
To overcome the masks, think of yourself as an actor playing to the balcony. Be more elaborate with your gestures, like a hand over your heart, a mock hug, a wave.
Replacing hugs is harder. “A psychologist I interviewed for the show told me that one way to try to get that dopamine is to focus on activities that bring you pleasure,” Bainbridge wrote. “They could be guilty pleasures — bingeing a dating reality show, baking, dancing — but we need to make sure that we’re doing them every day.”
My wife, Cathy, and I hug all the time, and I know nothing can replace that, even for platonic hugs, but here’s the best I can offer: Ask a friend to tell you about a song that means a lot to them, and why.
One of my best friends recalls a longdistance relationship, and how the bittersweetness of “Leaving on a Jet Plane” would get to him. A Gen Xer embraces “Silent All These Years” by Tori Amos, seeing it as an allegory for coming out and finding allies.
I’ve never hugged either of them in real life (it’s a guy thing, I guess), but every time I hear those songs, I do.
Lots of people post their favorite songs on social media, but a woman in her 20s explained why each song mattered to her, and that turned hohum into a hug.
I could close my eyes and see her smile, singing along with her favorite blastthecarstereo song, and I could share her pain over a breakup song. Even if you’ve been married 32 years, you never forget that feeling.
Share the songs privately. Don’t have just one; tailor your pick to the person you’re connecting with. But make it yours. If they’ve never heard it because you come from different generations or backgrounds, all the better. Educate each other.
Two casualties during the pandemic have been our ceremonial hugfests: weddings and funerals. Maybe the songs will help you share the joy or ease the pain. “Dave’s always loved this because it reminds him of his first date with Cathy.” “This is Bella’s goto song at karaoke.” “Dad used to sing this to me when I had a bad dream.”
For those who go to a virtual wedding and don’t know the couple that well — including, say, their parents (“I’m sorry, sir, but ‘The Muffin Man’ is NOT the groom’s favorite song”) — this might be a chance to learn about the milestones in their lives, to know what matters.
As for a funeral, instead of having a minister she’d never met tell me how nice Grandma was to the nursing home staff, let me hear a song that she and Grandpa danced to at their wedding. Sharing songs and stories might help you grieve in your own way, rather than at a more rigid ceremony.
Maybe years later you’ll hear one of those songs and be ready to say goodbye. Or hello.
If it’s hard to be vulnerable and share a song, maybe this story from eons ago (as in, before the virus) will help: A younger colleague and I had talked over coffee about some big decisions she faced. Nothing bad, but definitely life changing.
She went away for three weeks, and I just knew that I had to give her a hug when she got back. Don’t get me wrong: Other than for departures or major life events, I’ve probably hugged three or four people at work over 40 years. At most workplaces, including ours, you just don’t do that.
But I had to.
I knew she might be busy and might keep typing and might think I was crazy and might not want to be bothered and might not care that I was on her side no matter what, and before I could even finish saying “welcome back,” she got up and hugged me.
Don’t underestimate how much people care. If your heart is on your sleeve, your mask won’t get in the way.