Seven more Saturdays. For the past six months, I’ve spent every Saturday at massage school. It has been quite a journey so far, returning to school after a fifteen year hiatus. I dropped out of massage school when my daughter was born, having only two classes left to finish. I have always regretted that decision to cast my dreams aside.
It has been a lot harder than I thought to go back. This is an accelerated course, with lots of homework. School has taken time away from my kids, away from my social life, and away from my sex life. It has cost me $3600.00 that I really couldn’t afford. But I’ve paid every dime, knowing that I am worth the investment.
In school, I have found a sense of purpose. I am a very good massage therapist. I know, because my clients always tell me so. And I can see it in their face after they have been through a session with me. I am a healer. And it feels pretty awesome to get out of my paper pushing cubicle to mold and mesh the pain out of some fellow humans. I love the gooey feel of a melted muscle. I love the sound of my client snoring on the table. I love the way it feels to cradle a client’s head in my hands while I send them love and balance. Life is hard. But on my table, my safe space, I get to connect and heal. I get to protect my clients from the harshness of the outside world. What an incredible honor it is to take someone’s pain away, to soothe and nurture a complete stranger. There’s nothing else in the world that can compare to working someone’s trapezius from a rocklike texture, to soft muddy clay.
Massage school came into my life when I was lost and broken. This education, this reaching back into my past to complete something I had thought I’d lost forever, has healed my soul in ways I never imagined possible. My teacher is the kindest soul I’ve ever met. My classmates are inspiring. My hands are on fire, burning for the finish line.
I have so much gratitude for this unexpected detour in the road of my life. Seven more Saturdays and my life will be in bloom.