The day had arrived. Directions to Sammy’s studio, received via text, explained that GPS would only get me so far. After that, follow the curve, then turn right. Don’t stay straight. Follow the rocky dirt road to the end. Park there, to the left. Turn off the engine. Wait.
There, Sammy would meet me.
As the house came into view, so did the crystal lake, sweeping in and out of the mountains.
Heartbeat accelerated with excitement over the quickly unfolding experiment with Sammy, and with nervousness over the trespassing of Superbloom.
A recent obsession played on repeat over my speaker, organizing my energy, coaching me to flow through it all, while echoing what was playing on repeat in my brain: “Been wishin’ for you…am I lucky or not…lucky or not…lucky or not?” I arrived at “the spot” and turned off my engine. Maroon 5 gave me a wink and wished me well.
Be present…pay attention…my phone reminded me.
A few seconds later she emerged from below, dressed in a cropped sweater and billowing pants. Reaching me at the top, she illuminated me, and then everything.
Who was this exotic creature? I felt happy…enlightened. There She was.
Sammy summoned me and then introduced herself, welcoming me warmly. We walked down the hill that had just birthed her, underneath an overhead deck where patio furniture sat around a fire pit, through an area which was being used to store firewood and pieces of projects…metal, glass, wood…. She apologized for the mess. “If this is a mess, it’s a beautiful one,” I said, admiring the charm.
Leading me into her studio backdropped by the splendor of the lake, she closed the door behind me. Handing me a form and a pen, she made small talk while continuing to ask questions in preparation for the massage.
“I see that you booked a 30-minute session, which is usually for more acute pain,” Sammy explained. “Generally, those time slots are taken by clients who have regular, longer sessions and who need some extra work in between.”
Yep, I did that. There were other options, and I had chosen the shortest one when I booked online because…I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know what to expect from our connection. As drawn as I was to this particular therapist, it was a big (big) blank as to what would actually arise in the space between us, and I suppose I was being a little careful. The shortest session was 30 minutes, for people who had sustained some sort of injury. Of course, I thought, suddenly feeling very silly. She’s used to working with athletes who need serious help, not housewives with weird hobbies. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that she might ask questions.
Glancing at my completed form, she inquired: “Where are you experiencing pain?” I told her that I sort of experienced a general back pain, from carrying a three-year-old around all day and other life stuff. I told her that I had booked the shorter session because I was unsure about the amount of time and how it would feel. She looked at me and paused. (What I didn’t say was that I had wondered if our connection would be too intense…if one or both of us would get lost in the other somehow. That I didn’t have much experience with this kind of stuff and that I’m trying to figure it out.) Then, she continued, “Is there a reason you wouldn’t want a longer massage?” I couldn’t think of another answer. “I just wasn’t sure what 30 minutes would feel like and if more would be too much.” She gazed at me expectantly. I gazed back.
“Ok,” she said after an eternity. “Go ahead and get undressed to your comfort level, and then we’ll get you on the table and go from there. I’ll be in the next room listening for you. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Sammy left the room and I removed all of my clothing except for one small piece. I slid under the crisp, white sheet on the table and called for her. I was ready.
When she laid hands on my back, her warmth spread everywhere. The effect was an immediate soothing. They talk about healing from the inside-out. Was this what it felt like to be healed from the outside-in?
We talked. We talked the entire session (which ended up being over an hour) and never stopped. There was so much to say and the rhythm of the saying it was comparable to the conversation the breeze and the water were having right outside the window.
I learned about Sammy…her family who had immigrated before she was born…where she grew up…how she became a massage therapist…her intentional practices…life as she currently saw it. Meditation. Morning routine. Deep breathing. Opportunity for growth and self-work. She had just been accepted into a chaplaincy training program.
I was surprised to hear her bring up so many of the specific things I’d been circling around in my own life. Even more amazing was that she seemed to be actually living into these things that I was just reading and journaling about. If I had ever manifested anything in life, here it all was. This experience, the setting, this magical, new-to-me human. Somehow warm, cozy, spacious, and exciting all at the same time.
Sammy was looking for collaborators in life, and I felt myself envious of these people she mentioned. She wanted to create art, beauty, community. I wanted to play, too. She was cool…and inspirational to me…already.
There was a clip-clopping above us. Superbloom, who had come home during her lunch break, was wearing high-heeled boots which, Sammy told me, was one of her trademarks.
We continued talking. She told me about all of the interesting jobs she’d had, places she’d gone. The Olympics was a dot on the map of her life story which impressed me because I assumed a person who had earned a spot to compete at such a high level would naturally brag a lot about it. Not Sammy. It was once a huge part of her life but she mentioned it the same way one would if they were sharing how they used to eat Cheerios every day for breakfast. Just another one of life’s details.
Time to turn over. Sammy held the sheet above me while I tried to flip over without exposing any of my parts. I almost smacked my head awkwardly against hers but luckily I missed. I managed to roll over onto my back without being seen. Ahh…modesty. Ohh…obscurity.
As Sammy massaged my arms, she asked me about the cuts, scars, and bruises covering them. I had forgotten how that would have looked. I usually wore long sleeves to cover it up. The nurse anesthetist had asked me the same questions a few months ago when I was gowned up for the ectopic surgery. Of course she did. In “helping professions,” they can’t not say something if a person seems to be in some kind of trouble. My arms probably suggested I was unskilled at cutting or else being abused in a really weird way.
“Abuse” was closer to the truth, if you could call aggression from a small child that. (And you certainly can’t.) Recently diagnosed with autism, one of my daughter’s main challenges had been emotional regulation. She would make a beeline for me whenever she was in a state of distress, which was frequently, and she would bite, scratch, pinch, and anything else, as if her life depended on hurting me. It was difficult (and a bit embarrassing) to talk about with people who didn’t know her, so I didn’t go into much detail with Sammy. But I was somehow grateful that she had asked about this arm thing anyway. It opened the door wider. We talked about grief, death, pain, depression, relationship struggles, etc. Not everyone’s cup of tea. But somehow, no topic was too heavy. We were both light.
Time flew by. Sammy’s hands had glided over (nearly) every inch of my skin. She was positioned at my head now, and I noticed that I liked that. She slid her palms underneath my mid-back and pulled up towards her. My chest rose, and I felt her warm breath on my face. Once more, she reached her hands deep under me and thrust me up toward her. Involuntarily, I gasped.
Sammy removed her hands and stepped back.
“It’s been so lovely to get to meet you and work with you today! I’m going to run up and say hi to Superbloom while you get dressed, and I’ll be back in a few minutes to walk you out….” I watched Sammy dart two and three stairs at a time up to her wife.
I just laid there, pondering how I felt, staring up at heaven.
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