Awake

Have you seen my flex capacitor?

Whoa. It's May. (Yesterday it was February, wasn't it?) Maybe they've turned the MAX into a time machine and I should file this post under conspiracy.

Only one month into school and I feel like I finally have permission to be me. That first homework massage three weeks ago felt like an entrance gate into my true life. Steph came over and we opened the massage table box that had been sitting in my living room for a week. (It had been waiting patiently for me to get over the initial shock of being back in school.) We set it up, I took an intake form, the gate opened and there I was in my living room giving my best friend a massage as if I had been doing this for years. In reality, I was two weeks into school and only "knew" a handful of strokes.

But that's the thing about touch, isn't it? You either know how to give it or you don't. Sure, there's an incredible volume of information about what's going on in and under the skin—and that information fascinates me more every day—but knowing how to touch and how to heal a person through touch my guess is that it's a gift, and no book can teach me that.

So, to answer your question, I'm thrilled to be in school. I'm happy all over and excited for what's next. I can't wait to put the letters "LMT" by my name. Not for the status, but for the permission: the permission to be me.