it’s true that i’ve grown to have a certain aversion to people entering my personal “bubble”, though i don’t think it’s as accute as people like to tease me about. i don’t have any inherent dislike of physical contact or intimacy, and it’s not as if i had some traumatic childhood event which makes me shy away from close contact with others, it’s more of an issue of (perhaps ridiculous) personal politics. in most of my young adult life it seemed like overt acts of physical contact between all but the closest of people were always coupled with a notion of possessiveness, neediness, manipulation, or insincerity which has always made me uncomfortable.
driving back from the show was different. cutting across the snowy ohio countryside, the eight of us huddled together for warmth. heads rested on shoulders, bodies draped loosely in unzipped sleeping bags squeezed into the bench seats, arms and legs sprawled comfortably over other arms and legs. our bodies rested against one another in silent, peaceful support, our entagled limbs a child’s game of pickup sticks where one dare not disturb even the smallest piece of the simple balance of the structure lest it come crashing down.