It’s amazing what you notice when you literally can’t see…
A few weeks ago, I went in to my optometrist’s office to have my eyes checked. I needed an updated prescription in order to get new contacts. What I learned was that my vision had been grossly overpowered for pretty much my entire young adult life (Math: Aged 15 through 38 makes for 23 years of wearing contact lenses, kids)
I left his office wearing a prescription I think I may have had when I was 10. All of Park Slope looked slightly out of focus with a diffused fuzz surrounding lights and street signs. He told me my brain needed time to get used to this downgrade. My eyes had been conditioned to over focus. This got me thinking about my painful at times issue of noticing the little things that others miss. Conversations I can’t seem to filter my attention away from, scenes that play out in the far corners of train cars when people are staring deeply into their smart devices and smells that no one else seems to pick up on, but send my olfactory bulbs into overdrive. This is the story of my life. I fantasize about what it must be like for the people who do not notice; who aren’t capable or do not care to notice. I envy their ability to walk through life oblivious to all that detail.
I still couldn’t see shit hours later. How long was it going to take my brain to acclimate?
I woke up the following morning and popped the tester contacts back in. When I got to the city, I realized I could not discern clear facial features of anyone more than ten feet away from me. This walk down one of the longest city blocks to get to my work is like an American Ninja Warrior gauntlet. I’m in a constant battle for space, bobbing and weaving through people staring up or down but never straight on, exaggerated arm swings with lit cigarettes that narrowly miss burning a whole into my side and those people who literally just STOP without warning (yes, there is such a thing as rear ending a pedestrian). Since I couldn’t anticipate people’s movements, I had to just go with the flow. I got knocked into by a guy carrying a humongous Starbucks disaster drink. Ask me what he looked like? I have no freakin’ clue. It’s easier to let moments like that go when you don’t have the afterimage of his face stamped in your memory.
I rushed down the subway stairs and made my train just as it was pulling into the station. The bright orange circle was the letter B to my downgraded eyes. It was, in fact, a D. Getting off a few stops later, I waited until the next train fully pulled in and squinted to see the letter clearly. I almost doubted myself. I almost asked the teenager sitting next to me what the letter was. I didn’t. I gazed at our reflections in the darkened window facing us. We looked the same age. My eyes had now become a Photoshop filter. I smiled not really caring what part of Brooklyn I might end up in if my vision had tricked me.
After a week of this, I started to feel like those people I envied. I realized just how much mental real estate I give over to details that honestly take the joy out of my life at times. There is an expression “the devil is in the details” and it rang true for me. Learning to pay attention to what matters most instead of getting lost or despondent over every micro element of what I’m seeing, hearing or inhaling is my take away from this experience. My eyes may have found their focus now, but I feel like I inadvertently got a dose of exposure therapy in the process. And I’m not mad about it at all.
There is nothing better than a person who is health and wellness minded coming to me for massage. You don’t really have to convince them of the benefits or teach them about its affects on their body because they are already informed and on board. Instead, as you work with them, they learn more about their body’s movement patterns and underlying stored tensions, making release and corrective care all the more possible. After a series of sessions they will be right at home in their new state of being and come to you for follow ups whenever they feel the need for them. Sigh…if only all client situations were like this.
One client that I have been working with now for a few weeks fits the model client moniker to a tee. He comes in with stories and updates on the results of his last session and what his activities/work/lifestyle have procured for me this time around. I share him with another therapist. We both approach his motley crew of issues with different perspectives and techniques, but always end up with some kind of change/result. This weekly challenge is such a learning process for myself. Having to get creative in order to circumvent limitations and other obstacles takes me away from my usual approach to a particular muscle issue and brings back the spark of why I got into this profession in the first place. It also makes me hungry for more education, which (lucky me) New York State is going to require in just a few short months to renew my license. I do my little happy dance post session, when I can see the effects of the work; a little less rounding of the shoulders, an arm fully flexing up to one’s ear, a little pain free spring in one’s step. It’s a great feeling.
In contrast to the model client, is the problem client. They come in many forms, sometimes seeking out massage on their own or having it forced on them by a health care professional or a loved one. They almost never feel comfortable with anything you may try out to address their issue(s), that is if they can pinpoint what it/they are in the first place. They don’t communicate their feelings easily or over communicate as in “choreograph” the entire massage session. On the one hand, I welcome clients being specific about where their trouble spots are and what they prefer me to do; however, one has to be a little reasonable. After all, there is a flow involved with a good massage and jumping back and forth between body parts, over flipping from supine to prone or over working a particular region or muscle kind of kills that vibe.
A funny thing happened a few weeks ago with one such problem client. After a handful of sessions where said client answered all my intake questions with shrugs and my inquiries on our work with a down-tempo “it’s ok” I had become a little more than frustrated. I was starting to gas out completely and couldn’t count down the minutes until our session ended. No longer client centered and feeling drained, I stopped focusing and sort of mindlessly moved about the tissues and musculature I was addressing. My zombie massage was, to me, the worst massage I could ever give a person. However, in this state, my problem client finally let go. In my daze, I heard a comment on how sore the front of their thighs were. At first, I thought the voice came from the inner recesses of my head…or the television blaring in the client’s family room. When it dawned on me that the client was actually communicating with me, I snapped out of my zombie mind and asked where they felt the soreness might have stemmed from (activities, diet, etc.) In three minutes, I received more feedback than in all the weeks I had been working with this individual. My crappy massage was this person’s saving grace. I know now to start off in a general way with said individual and allow them to lead me where they need. This problem turned out to be a model – a learning experience to challenge my approach to different personality types. Sometimes the egg can be cracked without too much force or effort. Take that, brain!!