Today is Why

You may recall that Beatrice helped me realize that I need to stick with this profession.  Since then, I have been struggling with the question of why.

Today is why.

I had 3 clients today, all with a cancer diagnosis in the same organ of their bodies.  You could guess the progression and prognosis of their treatment by the hair on their heads -- from bald, to pixie fringe, to long, heavy ponytail.  You could tell a little about their comfort with their bodies by their unguarded eyes -- and be careful not to assume the eyes match the disease progression.  The most raw fear peeks out from under that long, heavy ponytail.

The expectations we set together have been simple, realistic, and sometimes elusive.  "Give me that glowy feeling I always get from massage."  "Help me relax so I can sleep tonight." "Just make my legs feel more comfortable."  My past tendency was to say 'Yes.  I will do that," then spend the better part of the session worrying about whether or not I was doing that.

Today I tried something new.  Instead of "I will do that," I started with "I will hold that intention."  Instead of worrying about keeping my promise, I found myself present in breathing and being with the person in the room.  Out of that beginning, I found myself more able to feel and interpret what was under my hands, and feeling much more energetic at the end of the day.

I needed to learn and feel that again.  This is why I need to stick with this profession.  Or at least one of many "why"s.  It is my intention to keep open and aware for the next ones.

Beatrice, Patron Saint of Sticking with Your Profession

We travel to find answers to questions we didn't know we had.

My first day at our teacher's house in Thailand, I realized that my question was whether I still wanted to be a massage therapist at all.  I spent the day confused and frustrated, unable to make sense out of the work people were doing, and nursing my bruised ego.  (For the first time in, well, ever, a teacher told me I was "terrible" at something.)  I spent the day thinking maybe it was time to say goodbye to massage.  Although the thought broke my heart, it seemed necessary. I arrived in Thailand almost hollow inside.  I felt like if you tapped my chest it would resonate and echo like a bell.  Maybe that meant I was done.

A few days later, back at our teacher's house, I decided I should at least try a little bit.  Try again to do this Thai massage thing that continued to baffle me.  A friend suggested I work with Beatrice.  Beatrice had never done any kind of bodywork.  She had been learning at our teacher's house for a couple of weeks.  She was often the first one there in the morning, and she practiced when she could and watched when she couldn't.  Plus, she had a very kind face.  I made it a point to start a conversation with her as soon as we arrived.  After morning chanting, she asked if I wanted to practice together and I said yes.

We moved off to a corner of the room, leaving the center for our teacher and some of the more confident students.  Beatrice worked on my legs and feet, taking time to position herself and occasionally sighing or apologizing when something didn't quite work.  After a bit she sat down next to me, smiled and said, "I think that's all I know how to do."  We traded places.

I worked on Beatrice's arms and shoulders.  Before I started, I acknowledged to myself that I knew nothing, and said a little prayer that I would do no harm.  I forgot the names of muscles and bones.  All those origins, insertions and actions I worked so hard to learn and teach -- I let them go.  I watched Beatrice's face while I worked and let my gut be my clock.  I have no idea what I was doing -- probably something very similar to my "usual" type of work, just adapted for using legs, knees and feet and for working on the floor.  After a bit, I laid my hand on Beatrice's shoulder and said, "I think that's all I know how to do."

Beatrice sat up, looked at me with her kind eyes and said, "I don't know what you did -- but I felt something, I --" and as words failed both of us, she wrapped her arms around me and we embraced.  In that moment, I expanded and the empty, hollow places inside began to fill.

I guess I'm not done yet.

Helicopters

Sawatdee ka from Thailand.

I've been at "school" for two days now, but I think I have already learned enough for a new lifetime.  I thought I came here prepared with my beginner's mind, but I see now that I came with my ego.

Our teacher has a unique approach that involves nothing like our familiar version of lessons.  There are a few key phrases that he keeps returning to while he talks.  One of these is talking about "helicopters," meaning (I think) we tend to focus on the mess of anxiety and anticipation that exists outside ourselves and this present moment.  He asked us many times today: "Helicopters.  Helping or not helping?"

Not helping.

I have never done Thai massage before, so my initial plan was to observe and receive this first week. Just be a sponge and store everything I could in my head.  I had the opportunity today to try out a few basic things.  I guess I thought my knowledge and experience doing Western massage would help me to get the hang of it fairly easily.

Helicopters. Not helping.

Our teacher came over to my mat.  He said, "Terrible.  Terrible.  What are you doing?" He proceeded to show me where I could feel a block in my practice partner's body.  He tried to tell me what to do, but I just wasn't getting it.  What I was getting was frustrated.  Ego.  "Just show me," I said.  He proceeded to move my body into the correct position to work on my partner's body.  I managed to get a little of the feel of that one movement, but I had no idea what to do next.  So, he took over.  And talked a lot about how I needed to stop thinking and just feel.

None of this was news to me.  Nor should it be news to anyone who has known me for thirty seconds or longer.  But to me the realization that I am that much of a beginner was difficult.  I suppose I brought my "advanced beginner" mind by mistake.

Learning something so new is uncomfortable and frustrating in the early stages.  It has been some time since I've been this much of a beginner, so I guess I forgot.  But tomorrow I'll be at class bright and early, trying again to be a clean slate and a calm mind.

On Leaving

I am a nervous traveler.  There's a whole checklist I go through before a long trip of any kind.  This starts about two weeks out from my departure date.  The list includes necessary things like leaving a check for the pet sitter and taking out the garbage.  But the bulk of the list consists of things like checking  that my (brand new) passport has not expired, searching my email for flight confirmation information, counting pairs of socks, checking my passport, picking up and putting down my suitcase, and checking my passport.

With all of this nervous energy, I sometimes find it hard to focus.  Ever.  I imagine in my brain a rubber pinball being batted around by ADD mice with tennis rackets.  And I thank goodness for the respite of clients.  In session, I can find my lost focus and be in the present moment, no matter what is going on with my passport.

In between, though.  Oh my goodness.  Today, after a deeply focused session, I stepped out to get my client a glass of water and within 30 seconds I FORGOT WHERE I WAS.  Fortunately my brain still picks up on context clues and no client was left dehydrated.

I find it interesting that my work is both what makes it necessary for me to travel and what makes it possible for me to function while I am worried about the travel.  It is both respite, and the author of the need for respite.  I am grateful for both.

I am also grateful to everyone who trusts me with their bodies and their wellness.  I'm leaving for a while, but I'm coming back to continue to earn that trust, every day, every session.

This last week before I go, I am touched by the kind words and generosity of every one of my clients.  I have been wished safety, peace, renewal, fun and all good things you could possibly get from travel.  And  -- most important to me -- I have been assured that I will be missed, and my return will be a happy occasion.

Even before I leave, then, I am looking forward to coming home again with my new eyes and new knowledge -- ready to be a better, focused, more aware massage therapist for everyone.

Until then, like this blog post, I remain joyfully scattered.

Now, where is my passport . . . .

End of Year Review

Towards the end of 2014, I got some advice from a business coach.  She suggested I spend some time writing out my 2015.  She said to go month by month and write down everything that would happen in that month.  The idea was that if I wrote something down, it would become part of my brain somehow.  I would start doing things to make those goals happen, almost without realizing it.  The written word is powerful, she said.  I couldn't agree more.

The last few days of 2014, I took myself to Kentucky for a few days, stayed by myself at a cabin in a state park, hiked all day and wrote at night.  I called the thing I wrote my manifesto.

The first few months came easily.  I wrote in a flurry -- visioning and planning my future as fast as I could move my pen over the paper.  I wrote in an incredible amount of detail about the people I would meet, the number of clients I would have, and how I would feel while doing it.  I felt pretty smugly realistic about it, too.  I threw in some challenges, and even a few setbacks.

Everything was clicking along until I got to writing September.  I stalled.  I filled up half a page with doodles and scribbles before I finally managed to eke out a loosely drawn page or two.  The rest of the manifesto was equally challenging.  December, I recall, was barely half a page.  (By contrast, February was getting on for 6 pages before I was done.)  Still, I came back from Kentucky clutching that green notebook like it would drag me into the future depicted on its pages.

And then, the universe gigglesnorted and did whatever it damn well pleased.

Sure, many of the things I wrote about did happen.  I did leave my soul-sucking teaching job to focus on more soul-building teaching opportunities.  I did move to a new home.  (Twice --  but to be fair I didn't really specify "Move only one time" in the manifesto.)  I did send out a newsletter in the first week of every month.

And many of the things I wrote did not happen.  I spent a good part of last year (when I wasn't moving) going back to Kentucky where I was needed.  While this put a damper on the goals of the manifesto, I was damn grateful that I could do it.

So, really, the year in action went much like the writing of that year.  Clicking along easily at first, until I stalled, hiccuped and got derailed.  But now, after the end of that year, I would still call it a success.

I spent the entire year employed by myself doing work I chose with my heart and soul.

I spent the better part of the year being present for family and friends when they needed me.

I spent a part of most days engaged in some creative pursuit.

All in all, 2015 was a powerful year in both its written and lived forms.  

Thailand as Fire Prevention Strategy

"I love my job, but there is also a high potential for spiritual and emotional burnout."  

I am meeting lots of new people.  They are interested in what I do, so I find myself saying things like that a lot.  Because it's true.  

I intend to do this work (and train other therapists to do this work) for a very long time, so I have a simple burnout prevention strategy in place.  I will tell you my secret:  

Get the heck out of town.  

Yes, it's true.  In order to give my clients and students the support and kindness I know they deserve, I need to get away for a while.  Perhaps this might resonate for some of you if I replace "clients" with "family," "co-workers," or even "partner."  When I take care of myself, I can give more to others.  For me, taking care of myself involves shifting what my eyes see so my brain can release and find new ways to interact with the world.  

It has been a particularly challenging kind of year, so I am taking a particularly dramatic break in January and February.  I will be going to Thailand and Costa Rica to explore the world and other things I love about it.  And because my clients and students are some things I love about the world, I am sharing with you here (in FAQ format) some idea of what I will be doing:

How long will you be gone?

Almost a month.  

What are you doing in Thailand?

I am going on the Thailand Adventure Trip organized by Blue Lotus in Chicago.  We will study Thai massage and other healing modalities.  I am also hoping to learn something about traditional Thai temple dances, and of course to eat all the food.  

Can I get a Thai massage when you get back?

Of course -- but not from me.  Learning to practice Thai massage takes much longer than the short time I am in Thailand.  I'm sure I will learn techniques that I can incorporate into your regular massage, but for a full Thai massage, I recommend you connect with a Registered Thai Therapist.  

Wait -- Costa Rica?

Yes!  This part of the trip is all for joy.  I am going on a bellydance and yoga retreat with one of my favorite teachers, the incomparable Rachel Brice.  It just happened that this trip starts just as the Thailand trip ends.

Can I learn to bellydance when you get back?

I hope you do! And why wait for me to get back?  But, again, learn from someone more qualified than I am.  I recommend my first and continuing teacher, Malik at Hip Circle Studio in Evanston.  

What will I do for massages when you are gone?

I am preparing a list of colleagues at the Heartwood Center who have similar training to me, and who may have openings during that period.  I look forward to working with each of you when I return.  I sincerely hope that you continue to make your wellness a priority while I am gone.  

What if I have more questions?

Ask me!  

When the Student is Ready . . .

. . . . the teacher will appear.

In high school, a funeral director came and talked to us about how she prepared a body for viewing.  She passed around the plastic disks they use to keep eyelids shut.  I immediately wanted to go to mortuary school.  Even though the funeral director was standard American beautiful, blonde and bubbly, I felt this ambition would be frowned upon.  I was already quiet, drawn to Edgar Allen Poe and stormy Victorian novels.  I had both a black leather jacket and an ankle-length black trenchcoat, and enough sense to know that further tipping the "weird" scales might cause more anxiety than I wanted.  So instead, I studied literature.

Eventually, through a series of twists and turns and misdirections, I found my way to being a massage therapist -- drawn there because I had been working in nursing homes and retirement communities.  I felt compelled to train for something that would be more directly of service to older adults.  Most of all, I wanted to work with the people in later stages of dementia, or in hospice.  My ambition still tilted towards the end of life, and finally I was able to express it and mostly ignore anyone who acted like I just tipped the weird scales.

After becoming a massage therapist, through a series of twists and turns and absolute serendipity, I found my way to oncology massage.  I found myself still working with people near the end of life, but caught at that stage much sooner than we feel is natural.  I needed to do more than trust my compassionate instincts and really learn about the dying process.

And that is how I found myself in this end of life class last month.  We sat in a circle on the first day and our teacher asked us to introduce ourselves and say why we were there.  Here is my best memory of what I said:
"In the same way that many people are drawn to children, I have always been drawn to people at the end of life.  So I thought I should learn more about it."

And we went around the circle, and each person said their reason, their carefully curated truth.  So our teacher nodded.  She paused.  She looked around at each of us and said:
"Okay.  Now tell me why you're really here."

And the only thing I could think of for an answer was:
"I don't know why I'm here.  But I'm supposed to be here."

I know what I said was true, and I am just now finding out why.  Soon after I got back from that class, I was presented in rapid succession with clients whose conditions were deteriorating, and friends whose family members were actively dying, relationships ending, and general life upheaval.  All that talk and meditation and reflection on the impermanence of life was (is) constantly, practically, in-my-face, REAL.

I've been in this place before, but I haven't been this person before.  I felt all the lessons of my own past life upheavals finally came together inside the nurturing touch of that class, and I could finally just be.  That fix-it instinct wasn't gone, but it was quiet.  This is it.  The still-emerging reason why I was really there.  I was ready to just be, and just in time the teacher appeared.

Thank you, L.  The learning continues.