It's the Moments That Matter
You can ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll agree I’m not now nor have I ever been “a people person.” Don’t like people getting too close to me or touching me. I’m polite and well-mannered, housebroken and courteous. I know how to behave, in other words, in those circumstances “which compel a man to be bored or be a liar.” But I have my limits and when it comes down to it, as a t-shirt I had made up says, I have “all the people skills of a rattlesnake.”
One of my ex-wives once accused me of “going out of (my) way to be different from everybody else.” Well, y’know … I don’t think I’m alone in shying away from the obligatory “celebrity hug” so many people use as both a form of greeting and farewell, the familiar TV-talk show clinch that’s devoid of any real feeling.
“Fragile I am not. Affection is a pressure I can bear.”
That’s from The Lion in Winter, my favorite Christmas movie. Physical contact, if it means something, I’m okay with. But if it doesn’t, if it’s a formality or an obligation, a “going through the motions” move, then save it. I’m not interested.
This isn’t the result of the pandemic’s restrictions on personal contact and proximity, it’s been my policy for a long, long time. In which case, what exactly is it that I want, what is it that modern technology can’t provide? In short, what’s my problem?
How about this: I miss being in those moments when you first know the affection is real, the moment after which everything else is a bonus. Whether it’s friendship or love or simply realizing you’ve reached an understanding. That first touch. That first glow.
But technology can’t reproduce that, nor can attempts at remembering and recreating romantic scenes from your favorite films (“If I was Bogie and she was Ingrid Bergman and …”). I doubt if even Mr. Wells’ time machine could help. Years, decades, movements, eras come and go, but it’s only the moments that matter.