When I've Assumed My Final Form

Bury me while I'm still warm...

So it turns out, there was a piece missing from my long-term grief survival plan. I’ve spoken a few times about how much a lack of touch can exacerbate isolation and loneliness for those of us who have been widowed, and I have theorized that massage might be a way to help with this problem.

At the same time, I’ve been too intimidated to actually put this plan into action. My brain is the sort of brain that is always seeking novelty, but it’s novelty that I can safely consume, if that makes sense to you. Whether that looks like a really good sandwich from a restaurant I’ve never tried, or like sampling the vibes in a quirky little indie bookstore where I’ve never been, that is safe novelty for me. I’ll be honest that not everyone feels this way—Kellie had a tendency to get anxiety around going somewhere she’d never been before, and it took some work for her to get motivated to go into that new environment. She’s certainly not the only one who feels this way—there are some really incredible YouTube and Instagram influencers who make a living by going to places and filming what the stairs look like, how seating is organized, how to find your way to the bathroom, etc. There’s a market for that kind of content, no question.

But I have the privilege of being a man, and not just a man, but a relatively large white man. So I don’t have any kind of concerns for my own safety, and I don’t have to keep track of whether an area is safe for me to walk in by myself, especially at night. I don’t have to be worried that I’ll be followed and need a panic button or for emergency contacts to know where I was in case I get abducted or otherwise victimized. I have the advantage of finding it very easy to move through most spaces in the world in a way not everyone can. I don’t think most white men consider these things, but maybe I’m wrong and I’m just full of myself.

Anyway, going places and experiencing things by myself feels like safe novelty to me because I can keep myself emotionally distanced from any kind of uncomfortable situation that might arise. If I don’t like a menu item, I’ll just never order that again. If I hate the environment in a bookstore, I don’t have to go there there again. They probably are never going to have any idea who I am and don’t remember me anyway. There’s no cost to me to do those things, and I don’t have to be open or feel especially at-risk.

But now we come back to massage. I’m not comfortable in my body. I don’t think most of us truly are, but I am not in touch with my physical self most of the time. I live in my head a lot more often than I live in the real world, and so my bodily needs are something that don’t occur to me until they’re urgent. I will forget to eat or drink or go to sleep or to the bathroom for way too long, because I’m thinking about something and those things have slipped my mind. My body is a meat suit that carries around my brain, and I just don’t think about the body part of that equation very often. It is truly useful to me that Lindsay still texts me multiple times per day with reminders to drink water, because I truly need those reminders.

I’ve had a total of two massages in my life. One chair massage for free at a conference, and one full-body massage at a leadership retreat that my boss paid for (my choices were a day of golf with him or a free massage, and the massage was the obvious better pick in that scenario). But that has been the extent of my massage experience. I’ve never been to a chiropractor, or done physical therapy, or really had any kind of professional assist me with my physical body in any meaningful way throughout my 49 years on this planet. So that’s been my baseline.

And yet, I’ve been touch-starved, as I’ve addressed. Or if not actually touch-starved yet, certainly concerned that I will get that way at some future point. So massage has been a thought in my head for months now. But the vulnerability of having someone touch me and see me in an awkward setting where I can’t just leave has just been way too scary for me. My time with a friend yesterday gave me the courage to give it a shot, even though I had so much anxiety about actually going and doing it. The massage therapist recommended to me by the owner of the spa happened to have space in her schedule today. I was also told that she has some experience with clients who have experienced traumatic loss in their lives.

So against my better judgment, and with a bucketload of misgivings, I booked it for this morning. I didn’t sleep well last night because of my nerves, and actually was texting friends from outside the front door of the spa about how I was too scared to go through with it.

Well, TL;DR: I shouldn’t have worried. Vital Spa was really nice, but Amber was amazing. She was professional, incredibly skilled, and so easy to talk to. I cannot overstate to you all how truly transcendent my experience with her was this morning. I have now added another person to my (professional) support system, and have been able to address another small piece of my long-term sustainability plan.

I booked another massage with Amber in a month, because it was so great and exactly what I’ve been needing. And by the time I got to the car, I changed my mind and called the spa back to move my appointment up to three weeks from now. I’m going to see her every three weeks for the time being, and am very comfortable with saying this is now a necessary expense in my monthly budget.

I assured you that I’d update you about whether the massage experiment paid off, and I can very confidently say that it was beyond what I had hoped to get out of the experience.

I impulsively took today off from all my jobs and all my responsibilities, since I haven’t used any vacation time in quite a while, and instead spent my time getting a massage and then relaxing once I got back home.

Go get a massage from Amber, folks. Twenty out of ten, no notes.

Life is good.

Matt