On the very first night of my cross country hug journey, I received the Every Moment Matters journal from my first host. It was intended to be a signature book much like a yearbook for people that I met along the way to comment in. By the end of my month-long trip, I had a journal of my thoughts and one with the thoughts of others.
Most times you don't know the impact you have made on another. I feel blessed to have it documented. Today i want to give you a sneak peek of some of the comments from my 'monthbook'. "I am so honored to have you as our guest! You are such a brave and open person. I admire and respect your 'hug' mission and will be doing it on a smaller scale in my world. Thank you for sharing your story and your adventures with the world!!! It IS making a big impact. It already has on me! I love that we were able to sit by the fire pit that my husband created. It is a special memory for both of us. I hope our paths cross again." "It was wonderful having you at our home. It's amazing what you are doing and your courage and strength to see it through. Good luck on the second half of your trip!" "Melinda, now I remember what my laugh sounds like. You are doing the right things for the right reasons and I can't wait to see whatever you do next. You'll figure it all out." "A hug is like a breath of fresh air...you don't know how badly you need one until you fully...EXHALE!" "Loving being vulnerable together." "It has been wonderful spending time with you. What a great thing you are doing - spreading love and connection across the country - at a time when it is so sorely needed. I hope you find profound joy when you read all these comments. Your courage to take on this trip is awe-inspiring. Thank you for doing this." "I still don't like hugs!!! But what you do is still inspirational. Kudos to you for being so brave in such a terrifying world. Best of luck on your journey and I hope that you find everything that you are looking for. Best wishes!!!" What brave work have you - or do you want to - share with the world? xoxo
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In writing a book, we are encouraged not to use the same words over and over. Discussing this at the last session I had with my book coach, she inspired me to get curious about hugs. How many words do we have to describe this act that speaks volumes with no words?
Using the super fun website Visuwords.com, I determined that the amount of words we have for hugging can be counted on one hand. At least, the ones that describe the type of hugs I experienced on my journeys. Hug Cuddle Embrace Hold Yet, the indigenous cultures in Alaska have up to 50 words for snow. Do we need more words for hugs or was it always meant to be an experience the transcends words? One in which words may get in the way? Since Brené Brown released her book, Atlas of the Heart I am more acutely aware of how few words I am familiar with and comfortable using for emotions. The more words I learn, the greater capacity I have for communicating my feelings with others. I believe the same can be true for hugs. I am far too often at a loss to be able to describe particular hugs that I have experienced. It all sounds contrived and too similar. Maybe, if we had more words, we could better communicate how a hug feels, how it looks, what it means, and find better connection in that space. As a believer in the power of words. I believe the creation of new words for a hug can only enhance the experience, not diminish it. Ok, so now, who knows how these new words get created? I need to get on this. On numerous occasions now I have been told that to write better, I need to move my body.
Well, duh. I move my body fairly regularly through yoga and running to name a few. I thought the advice was great, I understand the importance of keeping your body moving and how easy it can be to get caught up in the writing and forget to move. That wouldn't happen to me. And, it hasn't. But, that wasn't always what these fellow writers were talking about. They were talking about moving my body while writing. At the same time. They offered examples of how they have done it. One friend placed her computer right next to her yoga mat. When she felt emotions well up, she took them to the mat and moved through them. Once that felt complete she returned to her computer to keep writing. (She also mentioned there may have been whiskey involved.) Another friend walked around her apartment speaking the stories out loud until she felt ready to bring them to the keyboard. I have resisted this. Not because I don't like moving my body but because I like to predict and be in control of all factors of my life. I didn't know what it would look like to move my body and also write at the same time. Wouldn't I forget what I wanted to write? I anticipated that the few seconds it took me to stop moving and sit back down at my computer I would lose the emotion I had found in the story and wouldn't know how to translate it to the keyboard. Also, it feels safer to stay in my head than shift in to my body. I found a compromise for now. I remembered that the notes app on my phone allows for voice recording. So, for the past few days I have taken myself to the streets. I walk around my neighborhood dictating the stories to my phone like I am talking to a friend who is genuinely curious about my stories. Numerous laps have been made down the streets around my home. I have yet to look at the transcripts. I am just praying it is coherent enough for me to be able to make sense of it and shape it into something more palatable. At this moment I still feel like the Little Engine That Could. "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can." And, there will be no greater sweetness than the moment in which I declare, "I knew I could." So many times throughout MYOH (my year of hugs), I thought about setting up shop on a street corner or at a local event sharing hugs with all the strangers that walked by. I had seen photos and videos of the Free Hug movement. I witnessed the images of the smiles, laughter, connection and love flowing freely at these events.
At one point I even called a mall to ask for permission to set up shop there. I was denied. They said there was no soliciting allowed. No matter how often I tried telling her I wasn't soliciting, I was simply wanting to share love, the answer was always no. I took it hard. I gave up. I also struggled with 'commercializing', 'capitalizing', minimizing this beautiful moment I found myself creating with perfect strangers. I was afraid that if the people I was hugging knew it was for anything but the hug itself, it would take away from the magic of the moment. Filming the moment in any capacity speaks volumes. "I'm not here for you. I am here for me." "I can't wait to show off what a good person I am." "Come hug me so I can share with others how good I am." "Let me make this moment public. I want people to like me." Yet, something was still tugging at me, wanting to experience what setting up a hug shop would feel like. What it would be like. Perhaps I was allowing my own insecurities to get in the way? When Mark Abrams, founder of Spread the Hug, posted that he planned on setting up a hug shop at the Roswell Arts Festival a few weekends ago, I jumped all over it. We had never met in person but were connected through a friend during my cross country hug journey in 2019. Not having to organize the event took just enough pressure off of me to say yes to the experience. Nerves raced through my body as I approached Mark and his crew (including some amazingly talented musicians who provided soothing ambience). It had been more than the two covid years since I had requested a hug from a stranger. I was out of practice, but I dove right in. It was fascinating to witness and feel the difference between these performative hugs and the very private ones I experienced in 2011. There were so many more people willing to say no or avert their eyes altogether than when I asked a person face to face. At the same time, the energy was also more electric, more vibrant regardless of whether hugs were taking place or not. I did feel all of those old thoughts creep back in; would people think we were only there for us? Did they fully understand and receive the love we wanted to share with them? At moments I felt dirty, like I was using people to further my own ambitions of being liked, appreciated, heck even for selling more books of my hug journeys. After allowing all of the negative thoughts and feelings have their say, I sat with what else I experienced that day. I experienced joy, love, connection. I witnessed the same and more. One of my favorite moments came when a mother and her teenage daughter were walking by. There were three of us with signs requesting to give and receive hugs. The mom said no to us all and kept walking while two of the other huggers found people that said yes. I let my sign fall to my side as I watched the next few moments unfold. I had seen a light in the mother's eye even as she said no and was curious if I would be privileged enough to witness a private moment in this very public event. Just as the pair walked past me, I noticed the mom look back at the others who were hugging, the corners of her mouth lifting in a slight smile. She lifted her left arm and gently placed it around the shoulder of her daughter while pulling her close in a loving squeeze, her forehead reaching over to kiss her daughter's forehead. Perhaps they are an affectionate family, perhaps the teenager's new found independence causes intimate moments like those to be less accessible. Either way, my heart burst with the love I felt emanating from the two as her daughter allowed for the moment to happen even as she kept on walking. To that I finally found myself saying, "so what?" So what if it's performative. So what if people think we were only doing it for the camera? So what if people thought we were only in it for us? So what if people think I am only in this for my own personal gain? The truth is I am. And also. I do it because it feels good. I do it because even if others don't engage with me, they may engage with someone else later. I do it because love should be shared. Often. All the time. I do it because of the smiles on people's faces whether they want to hug me or not. I do it because I know that I can't possibly know the ripple affect it is causing in the world. I do it because I want there to be more love in the world. I do it because I want more people to do it. I do it because I want more magical moments of connection. I do it because I love it. I wrote often during My Year of Hugs how when life went sideways and I had to detour from my planned day, that was often where my best stories came from. I gushed about how allowing myself the grace to pivot when things didn't go my way led to magical experiences.
I forget this. Often. But, is it really about the detour? Let's dive in. As I was driving home from my amazing trip in Florida, my car unintentionally accelerated on the highway. (and now, as I am writing that, I realize that these scary life moments seem to be what I keep writing about. I swear they don't typically happen this often...) I needed to get home for a few obligations I had agreed to but the incident was frightening enough to want to get it checked out. The closest Toyota dealership was over an hour away and unwilling to risk the high speeds, I chose the back roads. I had almost two hours before my appointment, so I allowed myself the time to enjoy the drive. The path to the dealership was magical. I drove through a town that reminded me of my favorite city, Savannah, GA with oak trees lining the street and moss hanging gracefully from their limbs. Nearly closing my eyes I soaked in the energy and beauty of this town. I debated pulling over to the side of the road to take pictures, but some moments are impossible to capture, they are simply meant to be felt. As I got closer to the dealership in Ocala the dreamer in me delighted in recognizing that I had entered horse country. There were farms everywhere. I took mental notes of which entrances and layouts resonated most with me for when I daydreamed about my own farm. I began mapping out how it would look and recognizing how I wanted it to feel when others showed up to visit based on how I was feeling as I passed by each farm. By the time I got to the dealership, I was thrilled with my detour and excited for what more might transpire. This was where the energy shifted; or probably more accurately said, my focus shifted. Everyone at the dealership was friendly and accommodating. No one gave me any grief over bringing my dog and cat (in his carrier) in to the lobby. There was free coffee and wifi. I had everything I needed. They were taking care of my car. But, all I could focus on was the wasted time I was spending there and the obligations I may miss, especially when they returned to tell me they couldn't find anything wrong. The parent company insisted there was nothing wrong and it was likely my aftermarket floor mats (which had been the first thing I checked). A few too many benjamins later, I checked in to the hotel I hadn't intended spending the night in. Frustrated and anxious over finances and a car that had no apparent reason for accelerating, I clicked on a movie and drifted off into a fitful sleep. What I remembered most about the event up until this point was the frustration and anxiety. But, in the process of writing this blog I remembered the magic of the drive to the dealership through an unexpected town lined with the beauty of the oak trees. I remembered how inspired I felt driving past the multitude of horse farms dreaming about the day it will be mine. I remembered how all of my obligations effortlessly reorganized themselves as each one got rescheduled before I even had a chance to be the one to reschedule. I remembered how thrilled I was at seeing my typically aggressively fearful chihuahua behave with the most miraculously calm, appropriate behavior at the dealership. If all of that wasn't magic, I don't know what is. Did I need the detour to find the magic? No. I experience it every single day. But, sometimes I think the detours are what shakes me out of my well-worn behaviors and thoughts into a practice of creating new ones. Which has left me with the question: What am I choosing to focus on today; the fear and frustration of a day not going "my" way, or the satisfaction of a day filled with magic? It has taken me years to identify my creative process. It's the same process I use to enter a cold pool. I do not jump right in. I dip my toes until they are comfortable, then up to my ankles until they are adjusted, then possibly up to my knees and so on and so forth allowing each part to become comfortable and adjusted until finally I am all in.
This weekend I experienced the same process with my animal healing. Working with a tarantula was an uncomfortable, frightening situation. Spiders are one of the only beings that I am actually afraid of. I love them...from a distance. I started with performing energy healing on the spider through the cage. I was comfortable with the top off as his mom let me know he isn't a jumper. Keeping my hands close to the cage I was able to facilitate the energy required for his healing session. However, I knew I wanted to push the edges of my discomfort and grow. Once the session was over, I had a greater sense of comfort with him because I had felt his energy and recognized his calm nature. This was a great opportunity to wade into the waters up to my ankles. I let his mom know I wanted to hold him, but that I was only comfortable for a quick minute. Just long enough for her to take a picture then she needed to grab him again. I nearly backed out twice. My feet weren't as comfortable as I thought they were. But, like in the cold pool, I knew I may not ever feel 100% ready for the next step. I held my hands out and invited him over. His mom gave him a gentle nudge and he worked his way on to my hands. Breathing slowly through the anxiety that wanted to burst forth from my core, I paid attention to the soft sweet spot each leg touched on my hand. I focused on his soft, velvety body. As his mom took the picture, I allowed myself to become as comfortable as possible. And, in a few quick flashes it was over. I had not gotten comfortable enough to let him continue to stay on my hands or - worse - move farther up my arms. "Ok, I'm done. You can take him now." I nervously laughed to his mom. Holding her hands back out to him, he recognized her invitation to return and made his way back to his own comfort zone. Later in the day, I judged myself and wondered why I didn't hold him longer. I knew I could have. I knew it wasn't as terrifying as I had made it out to be. And, in that thought I recognized my creative process. I am comfortable until I'm not, then I move into the discomfort zone, then get comfortable again. Even away from the tarantula, the growth continued until I recognized that I was ready to move past my ankles and up to my knees. This is where time becomes a poor match. I didn't have enough time to allow for my body to become adjusted to a tarantula sitting on my hands. If I had handed him back to his mom then had the time to sit with her for a while longer, I likely would have experienced the desire to try again while in proximity of the spider and my comfort level would have grown. I find that with my writing, I don't allow for this creative process of mine. Time becomes a factor. I want to be published by a certain time and hit deadlines made up in my head. I want to jump right in to the deep end. Only, every time I do, I jump right back out and never get comfortable enough to learn the process, much less enjoy it. I recently went back to the beginning and placed my feet in the water up to my ankles. With all the times that I jumped in to the deep end, I found the writing quite comfortable right away. I wanted to stay there. Only, I can't. This week it's time to move past my ankles and toward my knees. I know it won't be easy. I know the discomfort will make me want to get out and say no, but I also know that I won't. I will breathe through the anxiety and stay until it becomes as comfortable as possible. Then, I know it will be time to move on again. The process has become enjoyable. I may not hit my desired timelines, but fortunately I have the freedom to adjust them. |
AuthorMelinda Lee is a mom of two adolescent boys, a devout student of all things spiritual, a recovering perfectionist, and immensely fascinated with achieving the unachievable. Currently writing a memoir about hugging strangers. Archives
February 2023
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