A Brief Selection — “When Was The Last Time You Were Held?”
Accompanying Selections:
“Alexander” — Rex Orange County
“Existential Dread” — Thundercat
“Make Friends” — Hiatus Kaiyote
“Don’t Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder)” — The Beach Boys
When Was The Last Time You Were Held?
It’s a friend’s birthday. The celebration is intimately set in a softly lit Brooklyn apartment. The gentle buzz of small talk and reconnections are neatly intertwined with a thoughtfully curated playlist of reflective sounds. Of the attendees, I only know a few. They are inviting but unfamiliar. While my recent sabbatical from alcohol has introduced a newfound emotional clarity, it has also triggered a hyperawareness of my bodily sensations. A body tremor here, a heart palpitation there–the most urgent symptoms of my anxiety disorder tend to be psychosomatic in nature.
“Is there anyone else here that I know? I hate introducing myself. God… what is that feeling in my arm? Am I having a heart attack? Oh shit, right, I lifted earlier. Fuck, I’m so tired right now. Am I going to pass out in front of all these strangers?”
Alcohol has served as a short-term remedy, muffling the syncopated blaring of the sirens going off in my head. After many years of navigating my relationship with mental health, I know what these feelings are. I’m not dying; it’s just anxiety. But tonight, while drowning my dry mouth in glasses of cold water, my mind is clear, too clear. Every sound, every touch — sharp, unfiltered, overwhelming. It doesn’t matter what I know; I just know how I feel.
In such instances, little things irritate me more–trivial small talk becomes an affront to my time, unintentional interruptions feel like purposeful slights. I begin to feel tense and pressured. I want to escape my body. In this moment, I wish I could apologize for every time I’ve made fun of a white person and their support dog. I get it, Caitlin. I get it.
When Was The Last Time You Were Held?
As the gathering continues, something happens. Mid-conversation, I notice my friend softly resting her head on the shoulder of the woman standing next to her. The experience becomes cinematic. The words of the person in front of me are instantly muted. Characters become blurred in the background as my lens focuses on this expression of tenderness. They have been close friends for some time, so the gesture isn’t surprising but more noticeable in my current state. Before I can reflect further, the moment is broken as our host suggests we convene our small group in a makeshift conversation pit constructed of couches and chairs. The scene picks up again, and I am engaged. We politick and bullshit, bouncing from shared frustrations with electoral politics to commiserating over shared experiences of unknowingly dating a Brooklyn Hotep. And then it happens again. This time, I notice my friend extending her legs across the lap of the other woman. It is simple and unassuming. Without saying a word or sharing a glance, they are nurtured.
When Was The Last Time You Were Held?
As I sit bathed in anxiety, the subtle comfort shared between these two women forces me to confront the limitations of my own relationship to intimacy. It’s not that intimacy is unavailable; it’s conditional. As a heterosexual man, I can rest my head on another man’s shoulder — but not without implications. We want men to be “soft,” but not THAT kind of soft, specifically with another man. And that’s not to say that I’m looking to cuddle with one of the homies, but even my need to clarify that statement reveals the latent, unexamined homophobia in our supposedly progressive collective psyche. To avoid any questioning of my sexuality, I can find physical comfort in a female friend, but our tendency to sexualize platonic relationships between men and women often leads to confusion and further implications. You think I’m “just trying to fuck,” and I just want to be held.
For men in my position, we are left with one completely safe space regarding physical intimacy: our partners (a burden too often placed upon women). But having only one person you can look to for emotional support is not enough for any human being and not at all useful for those of us who remain single. As I’ve pivoted into a more intentional dating space, I’ve (not as ironic as you think) found myself dating less, and even more less, having casual sex. And because of that, I can’t answer my own question. I don’t remember the last time I was held.
In this newfound space of intentionality, I’ve caught myself wrapped up in this paradox,
“Damn, I really wanna have sex right now. Well, I wanna have sex, but then stay in bed and talk for a while. I mean, that part sounds really nice. Yeah, I kind of wanna just talk in bed with someone? That part, I guess?”
I appreciate sex, even casual sex, but I do think that we over-index on the idea that men are hyper-fixated on sex, as much as it serves as one of the few outlets for physical intimacy available to us outside of a romantic relationship.
“In actuality, men come to sex hoping that it will provide them with all the emotional satisfaction that would come from love. Most men think that sex will provide them with a sense of being alive, connected, that sex will offer closeness, intimacy, pleasure. And more often than not sex simply does not deliver the goods. This fact does not lead men to cease obsessing about sex; it intensifies their lust and their longing.” — bell hooks, The Will To Change
Everyone deserves a moment to escape the anxieties of their body, to release them into the warm embrace of another. Without this, we’re not living a complete human experience. So the next time you encounter a man and you find yourself burdened with his emotional distance, his inability to make eye contact, his failures to ask follow-up questions, his preoccupation with sex, remember that you are also talking to someone who maybe hasn’t been made to feel physically safe in his own body, who hasn’t had his head held while being told, “Everything is going to be ok.” Maybe I’m talking to you. So, I ask again:
When Was The Last Time You Were Held?
