Out of Touch, Literally

Is anyone else feeling short on touch?

I wake up most mornings in an empty bed (except for my own body, of course). I rise to the day and make breakfast for myself and my teenager. I work on Wordle while the teen continues his readying process. I savor my coffee, mainly for the mood boost. This teen once told me, “get your hug ready,” as he was hurrying to leave. From that day on I tell him, or at least make it clear, that my hug is ready.

Two mornings a week I wake up next to the body of my beloved boyfriend. We are both single parents, with kids in different school districts, so our time together is limited. On nights together, the feel-good affection hormones return from wherever they were hiding. I love waking up to find his arms, legs, torso and other body parts within reach, or already pressed against mine, or snugly intertwined.

Because of these two people, human contact is not entirely void. But most days I feel nearly “out” of touch. Whether I’m figuratively out of touch is another topic (perhaps a good use for the comments).

Admittedly, I am an introvert, but I have a sneaking suspicion that even most extraverts are not exactly rolling in physical affection.

Where in the world can we find touch?

If someone has a small child, there is probably plenty of physical contact – sometimes more than a mother wants, as described by Amanda Montei in her memoir, Touched Out: Motherhood, Misogyny, Consent and Control. Montei is a fierce defender of women and their bodies. From a child’s perspective, there may not be enough. I’m sure some of those children grow up to write their own memoirs.

If someone has a sex partner, they get to touch and be touched within that relationship. In a best-case scenario, both people agree on the ways and frequency. But often there is disparity between touch desires. Maybe this partially explains infidelity, or, in the consensual realm, why some couples agree to “open” their relationships.

We might get to hug our friends when we greet them or part ways. If our friends are huggers. Or we might get a slap on the back.

A professional massage is sixty minutes of pleasure bliss. But at the going rate of $120 per hour, that’s a premium I very rarely pay.

Already feeling the touch void back in my twenties, I myself become massage certified. Part of that process – maybe unique to San Francisco, where I was living at the time – was to get finger-printed at the police station. This was the city’s preemptive move against illegal pleasure touch, which was apparently a fine line. Despite it being a near criminal activity, I enjoyed my job: making money in exchange for touch.

Many people have pets to fulfill their touch and intimacy needs. I can vouch for the sensory satisfaction of snuggling with a dog. My boyfriend now homes our little dog most days, which allows both of them maximum forest adventures – their happy place. We almost never leave her home alone, but still we’re calling all the shots, from food to fun to (very limited) freedom. It seems unfair that dogs be “owned” and let’s face it, enslaved, for our human-centric interactions.

So this mammal walks into a bar, looking for touch.

We’re told that touch is a basic mammalian need, and yet we’ve created a culture that does not make it accessible. We live for the most part in isolation, separated by clothes, cars and condos. Most people prefer to own these things, rather than to rent or share. We meet more and more often from screen to screen.

In response to the touch void, there now exist entities like Cuddle Party Inc. Even cuddles are commodified, under capitalism (unless someone has built their own cohort of cuddling comrades).

I wonder how many of us still choose to connect, when it so often requires transportation, traffic, costly restaurants and/or other costs to enter. We pay to play, at our own game of life.

Adding insult to injury – booze, the legal libation that has for centuries allowed us to let down our guard – has been reported carcinogenic. Egad! (WHO, 4/1/23)

Out of touch figuratively, globally

Out of touch could also describe our culture. That the richest 1% hold more wealth than the bottom 95%. That our primary “food” source requires death camps for farmed animals – a holocaust that 99% of Americans go along with. That the number one primal pleasure (sex) is on the decline, despite the invention of birth control! (With the exception of Gen X women, as reported by Mireille Silcoff in the NYT.)

What gives?! It seems we are slowly sucking the life out of Life.

Do we really need touch?

Maybe it’s easier to ask if we adults really do need touch? And if so, how much? I don’t need it to survive, but I know that it feels good and I want it. At a recent party, a touchy-feely woman let me play with her long hair. My cousin will happily exchange foot rubs when we hang out. I feel *exquisite* carnal knowledge (FECK, yes!) when lying naked next to my lover.

I’m curious to know what you think. Do you need touch? Do you get enough? And where in the world do you find it?

XOXO

Sadie

P.S. I just remembered that I took a series of tango classes last summer, and that was an almost shocking level of immediate intimate touch. Now I understand the “it takes two” idiom. What tango calls the “close embrace” is literally chest pressed firmly against chest. I may sign up for another series soon, if I can cover the cost – and muster the effort to get there.