A modern holiday fable…
Tyler Morrow wasn’t extraordinary by any standard. He was a slightly awkward 32-year-old librarian who preferred the company of books to people. His days were predictable: cataloging books, recommending historical fiction to patrons, and drinking too much tea. But all of that changed one drizzly Humboldt County afternoon.
Tyler was shelving books in the children’s section when a small boy began wailing. His mother looked on, helpless. Without thinking, Tyler knelt and opened his arms. The boy hesitated but then launched himself into Tyler’s embrace. The crying stopped almost instantly. The mother stared at Tyler, her mouth agape.
“Wow,” she whispered, fumbling for words. “That was… incredible.”
Tyler, flustered – and somewhat embarrassed, muttered something about calming vibes and retreated to the safety and anonymity of his desk. But as the day went on, strange events kept happening. Mrs. Hannigan, the crotchety elderly woman the entire staff always avoided because she came in every week complaining about overdue fees, softened after Tyler handed her a book. Before shuffling off, she patted his shoulder and muttered, “Thank you, dear.” It wasn’t what she said but the look in her eyes—like he’d done something profound.
The next morning, Tyler’s neighbor, Mr. Patel, appeared at his door, holding an awkwardly baked pie. “I don’t know why,” Mr. Patel began, scratching his head, “but I just felt I needed to thank you for that hug last week. It was… life-changing.”
Tyler vaguely remembered offering a consoling pat when Mr. Patel told him of his dog dying the previous Tuesday. “Oh, right. Well, you’re welcome.”
Mr. Patel wasn’t the only one. By Friday, three more people had thanked Tyler for hugs he barely recalled giving. Word spread and patrons at the library started lingering near his work station, shuffling awkwardly around him wherever he went anywhere, until they found an excuse to get a hug. Some pretended to trip; others feigned emotional distress. Each time, Tyler obliged, assuming they were just unusually tactile.
Then came the journalist.
Heather Fielding worked for the lifestyle section for the paper, and heard about “the librarian with magical hugs.” Intrigued, she scheduled an interview. “This is absurd,” he told her. “I’m just a regular guy with long arms.”
“Long arms or not,” Heather countered, “people are saying you’re different. Can I see for myself?”
So, Tyler did his thing. As they separated, Heather’s eyes were misty. “That’s… wow. It’s like being wrapped in sunshine.”
Tyler chuckled nervously. “You’re exaggerating.”
But she wasn’t. Heather’s article, titled The World’s Greatest Hugger: A Librarian Who Heals With His Arms, went viral. Overnight, Tyler became a sensation. Folks of every stripe began showing up at the library in droves, not for books but for hugs. Some were skeptics, daring their friends to “test the miracle hugger.” Others came seeking solace, clutching photos of lost loved ones or recounting personal hardships.
Tyler tried to refuse at first, but there was something about the way people looked at him—hopeful, vulnerable—that made it impossible to say no. He set up a “Hugging Station” near the reference desk to keep things organized.
It was overwhelming, but Tyler couldn’t deny the effect. People left lighter, smiling through tears. There was the grieving widower who claimed Tyler’s hug brought him his first peaceful night’s sleep in years. A college student with anxiety said she felt “like she could breathe” after their embrace. Even the mayor stopped by, declaring, “This man is a national treasure.”
Attempting to understand what was happening with him, Tyler turned to science. A local psychologist offered to measure brain activity in people before and after his hugs. The results were startling: “You’re basically a human dopamine dispenser,” the psychologist concluded.
“Um, thank you; I guess,” replied Tyler. He was not comfortable with all this attention.
Despite it all, Tyler remained humble. “I’m just a guy doing what anyone would do,” he told reporters. But deep down, he started to feel a quiet pride. He wasn’t extraordinary in the conventional sense, but maybe he was amazing in a way that mattered more.
One day, a young woman approached the Hugging Station, clutching a tattered letter. She looked fragile, like a gust of wind might shatter her. Tyler extended his arms, and she melted into him, sobbing. When she finally pulled away, she whispered, “Thank you. I almost didn’t come, but I’m so glad I did.”
Tyler smiled. “I’m glad you did, too.”
As she walked away, Tyler realized something. Being the best hugger in the world wasn’t about technique or fame. It was about connection. In a world where people felt more isolated than ever, he’d found a way to remind them they weren’t alone.
And that, Tyler decided, was a gift worth sharing.
May you get together with your own Tyler – or may you be him – during these holidays.
About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is the CRP (Chief Recovering Perfectionist) of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com. He is available for coaching, speaking, and reminders of what really matters at [email protected].
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