After many years living with a constant, back-burner desire to learn massage, I began class last week at a great little school in downtown Oakland.
I am excited about this endeavor for many reasons, and I’ve seen them all close-up as my aunt has been a therapist for nearly two decades.
I’m excited about how much independence and flexibility I will be afforded. I’m looking forward to cultivating my own style and practice, and being able to use it as a transferable skill, in work trade and as gift. It’s a bit of a headtrip, though. I’ve spent years working from a place in my head, creating a language and classroom culture all based in verbal communication. Massage therapy school (once the immense amount of new information gets processed and synthesized) is requiring me to come from a deeper, quieter place. A slowing down, tactile, grounded place. I’ve noticed my yearning for this lately, as I’m also returning to dance after years off. There’s been an internal shift and I am welcoming it.
It also doesn’t hurt that I will be receiving bodywork at least once a week for the next year or so, especially during a sustained national crisis (that is seriously affecting me at a cellular level).
Plus, I miss being in a learning environment.