Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Six Impossible Things

I get quotes stuck in my head the way some people get songs stuck in theirs.  This morning it was from Lewis Carroll:

"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

As I got ready for my day, it occurred to me that I should adopt this practice somehow.  After all, weren't there moments when I found that I was already living things I used to believe were impossible?  And don't we live in a world where, just at the moment, we are daily challenged with at least the ridiculous, if not the impossible?  

So, on Wednesday, June 7, here are six impossible things I believed before breakfast:

  1. Pouring hot water over bitter, ground-up beans creates a beverage capable of altering a morning.
  2. The same sun shining in my eyes at 6am just drew a bright, warm line all around this entire planet since 6am yesterday morning.  
  3. There are people chatting and laughing outside my building right now who, in the world of 50 years ago, would be dead.  (There is a dialysis center next to my building.) 
  4. The entity I know only as a collection of medications and diagnoses will transform into a complex and wonderful human being the moment she arrives for her 9am appointment.
  5. My life, and what I choose to do with it, makes a difference in a wider world than I can comprehend.
  6. So does yours.  

Believing takes effort and practice.  This was not an easy list to create (especially before #1 happened.)  I am looking forward to the six impossible things that will be waiting for me tomorrow.  

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Under My Hands

Towards the end of her massage, I laid my hands on both of her cheeks, intending to release some of the tension in her jaw.  I saw her face tighten, then relax as she started to cry.  Her tears traveled down her cheeks and under my hands.  I asked her if she wanted a tissue.  In response, she covered my hands with her hands.

"No," she said. "Just keep holding on to me."

So I did.  I held her head between my hands while tears fell down her face, under my hands and to the table.  I took long, slow, deep breaths and watched as she slowly started to do the same.  I felt the tension in her jaw release as she smiled a little bit.

"I could just feel my mother here,"  she said.  "She wants to tell you 'Thank you for fixing my daughter.'"

What I wanted to say, but didn't:  How could I possibly fix something so complete, so whole and so grandly human?

After she left, I took a moment to appreciate the gift she gave me -- that she would let me touch her tears with my bare hands.  May we always be worthy of such trust.

Monday, May 8, 2017

This Little Trigger Went to Market

I was talking to a friend about a teenager we both know.  This child recently got taken out of a sport due to a knee injury.  My friend expressed some concern about the teen finding some activity to do in place of the sport.  This friend expressed concern over the possibility that this child could become a fat teenager.  She called that a "bad thing."

So, here's the thing -- I was a fat teenager.  And in many ways it was a bad thing.  It was a bad thing because of the way other teenagers (and some adults) treated me.  Because somehow it was okay to be teased at school and to feel shamed at home.  It was a bad thing because of the nickname that I got that stuck with me until I moved away from my home town, the nickname that even now I won't tell anyone because it carries such shame-filled memories.  My point is, it was a bad thing because of the way the outside world made me feel unacceptable because my body was somehow unacceptable.

Fortunately, I have a loving and supportive family.  Even through missteps and unintentionally hurtful things,  I knew that I had worth and value as a human being.  Not everyone is that lucky.

This, I am discovering, is a big part of my purpose as a massage therapist.  My practice needs to be a place where every human can feel safe and valued in their body, just as it is right now.  My very first client in Louisville reinforced that for me.  Here was a woman who spends her life working hard, caring and providing.  The hard work took a toll on her body and she was finally making a commitment to take some care of herself.  After her first session with me, she sat in a chair and wept over the "mess" she had made of her body, and how "bad" she allowed it to get.  I handed her a tissue and told her two true things:
1)  Every human body that arrives in my office is a successful human body.  Period.
2)  In my space, no one apologizes for their body.  Ever.
She looked stunned for a moment, nodded a little, and scheduled her next appointment.

So, when my friend talked about how bad it would be to become a fat teenager, my overprotective amygdala went a little nuts.  I perceived her view as a threat.  It is a threat.  It threatens the world I am trying to create in and push out from my massage office, where a person can feel safe existing in their body.  On a more personal level, it threatens my own sense of worth, which may seem solid but is in fact a tray full of water on the deck of a ship -- it could spill at any time.

The wonderful writer behind the blog Your Fat Friend does a much better job of talking about our cultural hullabaloo surrounding fatness and body image.  You should go and read her blog.  Here, I will just point out that I can think of things so much worse than being the fat teenager, and I am still struggling with a world that still wants us to live somewhere besides in our bodies.  It is the struggle that clarifies my purpose.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Things I Appreciate #2

I am seriously tempted to make this thing I appreciate something like "patience" or "flexible production schedules," given how long it has been since my last post.  But, I have spent the past two days cleaning my new apartment and trying to tell an entire town that I have arrived.  I'm also trying to process the last week at my Chicago practice.  I'm a little too tired to attempt humor.

So today, I appreciate limits.

On the last day of my Chicago practice, I had a day seeing people who had been regular clients for most of my time there.  I spent quiet time meditating in the days before that Friday, reflecting with gratitude on what their trust had meant to me.  I meant to approach the day with calm, professional dignity.  But professional dignity has its limits, especially when people share small glimpses of how you have affected their lives, and I found myself ugly crying multiple times that day.  In front of clients.  They were all loving and grateful and generous with their hugs.

On my way to Louisville the next day, I got a message from another client, hoping I had the time to squeeze in just one more appointment.  (I saw this client about a week and half ago.  We mentioned that it was probably the last time, and said a calm and dignified goodbye.) For just a moment I thought I could squeeze in a last appointment when I'm back in Chicago to clear out the rest of my apartment.  Just thinking about it, though, made me want to curl up on the floor for a while.  Somewhat surprisingly, even my willingness to help has limits.  Those limits seem to share a border with my health, which I am calling progress.

These things that are limited -- time, health, stoicism -- really serve to highlight the things we have which are limitless. Curiosity, ability to learn, and of course, love.  Scarcity is a myth.  I have learned this (again) by finding my limits.

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Things I Appreciate #1

I am quite possibly the most organized flake you will ever meet.  I have a wall calendar marked with the number of days left until my target move date.  Just beyond it, my table is covered with piles of papers, cords to dead electronics, boxes and packing tape.  It's mathematical chaos.

Last night I looked at that calendar and realized the very small number of days left before I relocate my life and my practice to my home state of Kentucky.  It occurred to me that I could write down all the things that come at me in waves of gratitude as I think about leaving.  This, then, is the beginning of a semi-regular series of Things I Appreciate.

The first thing I appreciate is: endings.

A little over three years ago, I stepped into an unexpected ending in my personal life.  I distinctly remember the feeling of holding on with just my fingernails, digging in to keep from sliding into I-don't-know-what.  Out of that stubbornness came this completely irrational plan to quit my spa job and start my own private practice.

When important things end, that feeling of "nothing left to lose" can open up a whole wealth of options.  It was fear that kept me from starting my own practice for so long, but with nothing left to lose, fear made no sense, so I went for it.  It took time to build, and there have definitely been some hiccups, but overall I have been happier in my work these past three years than I ever thought possible.  And it all started with an ending.

So today I am thinking of endings, of the enduring permanence of endings.  All things end, and in their place something new emerges.  This is a lesson I started to learn when I started my practice, and I am learning it forever, constantly, in a new way with every brand new ending.


Thursday, January 5, 2017

Where and Why

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is a blog about my work.  While many of the stories I tell here are personal, normally I try very hard to keep away from topics like my (or anyone else's) politics.  These are not normal times.


My best friend from grade school was sexually molested by a family member.  She told me about this years later, when we were both near-adults, many years after the abuse ended, and many years after the family member had died.  Sometime not long after this, she went to massage school and started work as a massage therapist.  In school, she did internships at various community organizations.  She spent the most time at a shelter for victims of domestic violence.  I have a vivid memory of her telling me about this work experience.  She talked at length about how she was really teaching women about safe touch and how it feels when their boundaries are honored.

This story of hers, coupled with everything I knew about her own touch history, was the seed that grew into my desire to go to massage school, and ultimately led me to where I am today.  This very day.  January 5, 2017.  And to where I will be on January 20, Inauguration Day.

I will be at work.

See, lately, so many people I work with are feeling directly threatened and unsafe because of who they are.  In my office, the one goal I have for every person is that they feel safe and they start to feel like their body is a place they can inhabit with ease and confidence.  I have little power over what kind of threats or danger can appear to people once they leave my space.  But with me, for that little time at least, I strive to create a place that is safe and free of judgment.  I feel like those sorts of places are shrinking faster than the polar ice caps, so on January 20, I will be at work.  Trying to hold that space.

For months now, I have been seeing some clients come through, only obliquely referring to the election and its results as they talk about how this ache or that pain or this overall anxious feeling just will not go away.  In my outside job, working at a cancer treatment center, I have watched the unkind edges of how the political climate seeps even into the minds of people who are literally trying to save their own lives.  I have been given the gift of heir trust, which I tried to honor by making a place for them to feel just a little bit like a connected and whole body.

And I have gone home and cried because I know that what I do won't change the very real possibility that many of them will lose the ability to pay for their care, or that some of my clients in my regular practice still walk out into a world that has decided their love, or their religion, or their skin is now a problem.  That they are a problem, and not so much a fellow human being.

And then I remember my best friend from grade school.  How she took her trauma and turned it into action.  Some kind of action.  I can sit here and drink tea from my Jane Austen mug and wallow in my futility.

Or I can go to work.  I can try, for just an hour at a time, for one person at a time, to create a space where we are again compassionate humans who listen to each other and honor each other.  I don't know what else to do, so I'll be doing that.

I invite you to come and human with me for just a little while.