Staring down at my phone I tapped on the Home button on the maps app. Why isn't that called iMap? I have an iPhone, that makes sense. Instead I am stuck calling it the maps app. That just feels awkward. I digress.
Last Sunday I spent the day with my friend Amanda. After spending way too long away from my chihuahua, it was time to go. Too lazy to change out of my bathing suit and in to appropriate, more comfortable clothes, I was grateful that at least it was mostly dry after spending the day by her pool. Gathering up my belongings in the kitchen, I waited for her to return with a pen; the one she intended to use to write down the book I was recommending to her. Looking up I saw her striding toward me with her arm outstretched. "Do you want a pen?" She was carrying two but only one was stretched out toward me. "um, yeah. I could always use a pen." We carried on with our conversation as I told her all about how Brené Brown should be a required read for everyone but in the back of my mind I was still stuck on the pen that was now tucked away in my purse. "Amanda, why did you give me a pen?" She looked at me like that was the oddest question. "I was in the drawer, saw the extra pen and thought you might like one." It was the answer I unknowingly hoped for. When she handed me the pen I was overcome with gratitude and love. I felt cared for, appreciated and loved. I felt important and worthy. As these are emotions that I am still learning to be comfortable with - especially the worthy one - I felt compelled to find out if, in reality, she was just giving me the pen because she had too many and had been attempting to give them away to anyone she could find. She didn't. She wasn't. She just thought I might like it. To most people - and based on her reaction - her included, it was just a pen. To me, it was a life-giving affirmation of all the self-love work I have done over the past few years. It was a meaningful gesture of connection and belonging. It was a reminder of why she is in my life. It was a beautiful expression of love. To most people, it's just a pen.
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In a recent yoga flow class at my beloved studio, Haven Yoga, my right quadriceps were on fire. We were flowing through a yoga sequence involving the Warrior Two pose, Reverse Warrior, and Side-Angle pose all of which involve keeping your legs stationary with the front leg bent at a 90° angle. This particular flow is the reason I typically avoid flow yoga. Hell, I'll even take a power yoga class because I have yet to experience a power yoga where we hold our legs in that same position for longer than a few seconds. We are too busy moving and grooving and getting our sweat on.
But, in the yoga flow class it's different. I am fairly certain our legs are only stationary through that flow for no more than a minute - hell it could be no more than 30 seconds - but in that minute, I am convinced I will die. Or at least fall to the floor unable to ever move my legs again. Typically I allow the fire to burn for about 5 seconds before I straighten my front leg in a modified triangle pose before returning once again to the posture I am supposed to be in. If the instructor keeps the flow going for longer, I may flow in and out of that modified triangle a few times praying for it to be over. On this particular day as I felt the burn and prepared to ease out of the posture and straighten my leg, something inside me said, "Don't. Let's see what will happen if you stay." What? OMG - something's hijacked my brain. Shit. But, I listened. And, I stayed. Using my breath like we are taught in yoga, I breathed in the pain and breathed out the pain. There was only pain; burning, molten lava pain. My eyes welled up; not in pain - but in emotion. Before I had time to examine what the hell that was all about, it was over. We moved in to triangle pose and I got sweet relief. A warrior's smile lit my face the rest of the class. I did it. I conquered the burn. I knew that in that moment by choosing to stay I grew stronger in more ways than one. My writing practice has mirrored the way I practice yoga. When it burns too much and the pain is too great, I back out. I straighten my leg. I leave the pain. I don't want a good book. I want a great book. I know that in order to flow from good to great, I have to stay with the pain longer than I think I can stand. I have to feel the burn until perhaps the tears flow. It's beyond those tears that my greatest wisdom lies. It's how I build more strength to share the things that need to be shared in order to deliver the book that's been sitting on my heart waiting to be unearthed. Anything less is just an anecdote. I am not here to write an anecdote. I am here to change lives. She appeared to be self-conscious of her height the way she hunched over as she walked around the landfill convenience center helping others with their trash. The loud colors of her jacket magnifying the posture she so desperately tried to hide. I had noticed her before but was never in close enough proximity to ask her for a hug, perhaps today would be the day.
Unwilling to hold up the line behind me of other drivers waiting patiently to offload the odorous bags in the back of their SUVs, I backed my own SUV (who I affectionately called Sally) into the lane farthest from the androgynous employee I hoped to hug. Before I reached the back of Sally, a familiar employee had already lifted her tailgate and was throwing the first of two bags of trash into the dumpster. Relief flooded through me as he turned back and grabbed the second one. I regularly overfill my trash bags in ways that causes holes to be punctured in them. I never know what might be spilling out of those holes and now I wouldn't have to find out. My clothes could remain fresh and clean. At this point, I had been hugging people that I encountered daily for about two months as part of My Year of Hugs journey. The burly employee with the massive beard that helped me had been a regular recipient of those hugs and today was no exception. His joy was palpable and his laughter contagious despite the fat cigar hanging from his mouth that competed with the stench of the trash surrounding us. Turning back toward Sally, I noticed the employee I hoped to hug walking toward me. Was she headed my way because she knew I would hug her or was it coincidence? It didn't matter. I timidly walked up to her, willing her hanging head to lift just enough for me to see her face when I asked her for a hug. She had an Eeyore quality that magnified my desire to offer her love. She gracefully accepted my request for a hug and leaned in with a one-armed embrace. I typically found this type of hug awkward and uncomfortable, but she pressed her upper body against mine and found a way to envelop me without needing the contact of her right arm. The warmth of her spirit flowed in to me. I felt grateful for the time she gifted me. Feeling slightly less rushed despite the growing line of cars behind me, I ambled back to the front of my car and slid behind the wheel of my SUV. Before I shut the door I overheard something that stopped me in my tracks. "That was the first hug I've received in a long time." There was only joy emanating from that sentence but it washed over me in waves of conflicting emotion. Gratitude for being the person that offered the hug. Despair that she wasn't receiving more. Shame at my privilege for having ample opportunity for daily hugs from my family that I completely took for granted. Tears welled up and fell down my face as I pulled away. In that moment, my desire for hugs for everyone intensified but it would still take another 10 years before I recognized that the root of my desire was for connection and belonging for myself. |
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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