A thought came to me this morning when I was on the train to work. Almost as if someone hit me right on the head, which wouldn’t have been surprising seeing as we were squashed in the carriage like sardines. With everyone fighting and pushing past each other to get on the train to work, you’re lucky if you can move your hand to scratch your nose if you had an itch.
It was that thought precisely that came to me. When you brush your hair, wipe your face, or hold your arm up, you don’t think anything of it. You don’t think of anything when you need to touch your own skin. But what about touching someone else? Or someone touching you? How does that make you feel? How often do we actually make contact with someone else?
I can tell you it’s not as often as you think.
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