friction of kneading

Posted February 10th, 2008 by Michelle

I had the lucky fortune of experiencing a truly transcendent massage today. Not all massages are created equal, and this was one for the ages. I’m usually pretty picky about the massage therapists I’ll use, but I was feeling a little desperate and my usual choices were all booked up. But I climbed on the heated table, placed my face in that crazy cozy toilet-bowl-looking ring, and almost fell asleep waiting for my woman to come in. When she finally did, she asked me what needed work (shoulders, low back, glutes, well, everything). And then she launched into my upper back and the minute she pressed into my shoulders, I knew I was in for a beautiful hour. It’s kind of like that feeling when you first talk to a man, that very first conversation, and you realize quite quickly that you don’t want that conversation to end. That moment of feeling like you are in truly good hands. Lucky for me, that happened quite literally to me today, and I’m all the better for it. I know some people are freaked out by being rubbed by a stranger; and maybe it’s because I’m rubbed by strangers more often than, well, hmm. That last sentence could be construed a number of ways. Suffice to say that I am happy- nay, ecstatic- to fork over cash to pay an expert on the human body to rub the bejesus out of me.

The thing is, massage therapy is called therapy for a reason. A few times, she dug deeper than I expected, and found tightness I was unaware of, pain I didn’t realize was there.

I recently read about that company in Japan that is giving “heartache leave”: time off if your heart is broken. Apparently, the older you get, the more time off you get, since breakups seem to get harder as you age. I’ve only ever had to take “heartache leave” once: Valentine’s Day, 2001 when my boyfriend told me he was in love with his grade school sweetheart. (Hard as that was to hear, phew! What a dodged bullet.) I had just started a new job, but I couldn’t function, so I called in heartbroken, and my bestest brother in the whole wide world with the bestest then-girlfriend in the whole wide world left the side of said bestest girlfriend and came and got me and took me out and got me drunk and played pool with me all night at my favorite bar in the East Village. On Valentine’s Day. That, friends, is brotherly love. Needless to say, it’s not really my favorite holiday.

Anyhoodle, I think that even more progressive than heartache leave would be a stipend for massage. Maybe some companies do this, like, well, Google, but it shouldn’t be so revolutionary. Massage promotes wellness on so many levels, and I truly believe that if I could afford a massage every other week, I’d be a far more productive member of society. And, well, I’m pretty damn productive as is, so maybe I could even save the world. Or, someone could. But I guarantee, if all of us could afford to be rubbed by professionals on a regular basis, the world would be a sunnier place.