I’m an ASH

My name is Jennifer and I’m an ASH: awkward social hugger.

I’m guessing a few of you out there are ASHes too. We’re pretty good at spotting each other in a crowd, often giving poorly timed high fives and age-inappropriate fist bumps; our own little band of outsiders avoiding hugs in an overly touchy world.

Don’t get me wrong. I love hugs. But you need to fall into one of two general categories before I give up the goods. Either 1) I gave birth to you, am married to you or we’re somehow related, or 2) you’re a close friend who is celebrating something wonderful, mourning something awful or is departing somewhere far-flung.

In most other instances, I’m pretty sure “hi” or “bye” coupled with a casual wave will suffice. And yet, people insist on squeezing me, uncomfortably mushing our squishy parts together and stepping on my toes. I can’t tell you how many enthusiastic folks I’ve accidentally punched in the stomach by offering a handshake at the exact moment they’re coming in for a bear hug. Total ASH move.

As I see it, I have two choices. I can continue avoiding hugs by using barely plausible excuses such as, “better keep your distance, I think I’m coming down with something,” or I can learn to embrace the embrace.

The best way out is always through, says sage Robert Frost. So this month, instead of hanging back and debating if I’m in a situation that warrants a hug, I’m just going for it. Every single time. Like I’m notorious hugger Richard Simmons working the crowd at a Sweatin’ to the Oldies convention. Side note: will someone please buy me this for Christmas?

But I’m only devoting the month of November to operation ASH-no-more. We’ll see how it goes and then re-evaluate. That gives you 26 days to come at me, arms outstretched. I might cringe, but I’ll be ready for you.