I just flunked relaxation 101. I had my first massage. Sounds of babbling brooks and chirping birds played in the background. I was supposed to clear my mind and let the masseuse unknot my muscles.
Turns out I’m not so good at this. Not that I’m terribly surprised. I’m a talker and a doer. I once attended a Quaker meeting and found the silence nearly intolerable.
As the young woman charged with my “wellness” dug her digits into my ubiquitous knots, I tried to follow her instruction to relax, but we control freaks find it hard to have someone else hold up our heads.
I focused on the sound track, but it raised questions. Where was that wonderful brook in Ireland? Dingle? Donegal? Oh dear, I still haven’t booked those final nights for our trip this year. Then there was the brook in Bandelier National Monument, New Mexico. When will I finally get a chance to take my husband and children there? Then there’s the brook near Krimmle Wasserfalle in Austria. Another place I went with my family as a child that I wish to go with my children. Does this count as a blank mind?
The masseuse asks yet again if she is using too much pressure. I reply that it hurts, but I’ll get used to it if it’s good for me. Apparently that was the wrong reply; the pressure lightens. Earlier she said if it hurt, it meant I wasn’t able “to relax into it.” I’d failed again.
Rather than listening to Celtic pipes in blue-green rooms, I think I do better standing in the sand watching the blue-green waves washing onto Celtic shores.