I was once afraid of hugs. Well, not afraid, exactly. I just felt awkward in situations that involved hugging or the potential for hugging. I don't come from a huggy family, so it always felt a bit strained and a little stiff to me. Sure, I'd lean in for the obligatory hug, but I'd make it quick - get in and get out and no one gets hurt. Knowing my own hugging issues, I used to enjoy watching other people hugging at airports. There were the true huggers - the ones who embraced others with every ounce of their being - and the reluctant huggers, who only ever hugged at airports and even then it was a quick, distant hug with a half-hearted back pat thrown in for good measure.
I always envied the true huggers and aspired to one day be among their ranks. At some point in my adult life, and I don't recall when, I decided to be a hugger. A real one. A hug-for-all-you're-worth person. An "If I love you and maybe even if I just like you, there's a chance I'm going to hug you" kind of person. As it turns out, I like hugs. No, I love hugs.
So today, I expanded my hugging repertoire to include a perfect stranger. I'm not sure what he thought of the whole thing - he seemed a bit flustered. But me? It made my day. I might hug strangers more often.