random act of bravery

Today I had my first massage.

This might not sound very brave. Really, it is closer to self-indulgence, to luxuriating. And I'll admit that as the massage therapist placed heated rocks on my lower back, my first thought was, "Oh. So this is why people do this."

But I think it is a little brave for me. Just a little. I've never been very good, you see, with touch. With people touching me. Correction: with strangers touching me. I don't get pedicures. I slide away on public transportation. I'm big on personal space. And the idea of a massage - of having my entire body in someone else's hands - had always been too much to fathom.

I have a friend - a beautiful, elegant, audacious friend - who has always used her body as a vehicle for touch. She is unafraid to grab our hands in public, to throw her arms around her friends, to put her lips against our cheeks and hair. I'll admit that it was startling, at first. She has a fluidity that shocks people. But you realize, after spending time with her, how generous it is. My friend was a dance major in college, and she told me once, in the back of a cab, how much she missed that - how much she missed the community of bodies. She told me that she had recently been called out by a co-worker, someone who apparently found her willingness to touch and be touched "inappropriate." Foolish.

It is exposing, I think, touch. It forces a recognition of the body. I used to spend most of my time ignoring my body. Defying it. Tucking it up. Lately I'm starting to realize what a gift my body is, how flawed and human and lyrical. Strangely, it is now - now that I'm not being touched, by anyone, with any frequency - that I'm starting to appreciate the physical, that I want to put myself in another's hands.

Plus, I'm never going to look this good again. 18-year-old me, you should have been naked ALL THE TIME.

I feel dried up. I miss theatre, where my body was an instrument. I miss physical improv, eight bodies working as one, bodies both sensual and utilitarian. Confession time: sometimes I go to yoga just to be touched. I get extremely (unhelpfully) stressed when the instructor is adjusting someone next to me. PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME, I want to scream. When they do, I feel my joints, my bones, my muscles - I am aware of my body in a new way. It was like this during the massage. It felt good, yes, just the contact - but it was also enlightening. Like, hey, what is that thing you are pummeling in my thigh? What is that? A muscle? I have one of those there?

The short and straight of it: I need a hug. Always.

first photo here, second & third mine.