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Road Rage Against The Machine

February 9, 2016

 

 

The job of a massage therapist is never done. Like today... I was driving on the freeway. And let me mention that I live in So Cal so driving on the freeway doesn't just mean getting from point A to point B in the car on a road. Driving on the freeway means competition. Sometimes in the nastiest, cruelest form. Getting behind the wheel down here in LALA land means competing with every other car on the freeway for the best position and then, inevitably, vying to win the race. And by race we all know I'm talking about the rat race. Because not only is it incredibly important to be in the lead on the road, but to do it with the most expensive, coolest, most trendy car. 

 

 

That being said, road rage is prevalent here. It is a disease which has no vaccination. But fear not! There is a cure! Of course now is where I plug massage therapy, your local my massage therapist, and maybe, humbly, myself. But not in the way you think...

 

In our never ending quest to end chronic pain and tension, massage therapists spend the bulk of our days contemplating serenity - how it can be achieved, how it can be received, and how it can be infused into our everyday lives. And as the rebel therapist, I resonate with this sentiment not with singing bowls or chakra balancing, (not that there is ANYTHING wrong with that) but with constant meditation that permeates every moment of my life. 

 

In the car, the old me (pre-massage/self-awareness/muscle-whisperer) got frequent sun burns from the plethora of times I stuck my arm out the window to share my glorious middle finger to the asshole who cut me off. The newer me, however, drives at the speed limit (most of the time) and actually lets people in front of me Ghandi-style. Yup. I do. It's totally bizarre. I grew up rebelling against almost anything I could think of. And now I find myself rebelling against rebellion. And the craziest part? It feels good!

 

Here's how it all falls into place: For the most part, this is the kind of choice we get inspired to do from those coca-cola adds where you see someone doing something selfless for someone else and then that person does something nice and you see the ripple effect. But our lives are not recorded for the world to see so often, the choice to be the bigger, or kind, person doesn't come with accolades or awards. And then something shitty happens and we think... "why do I bother?" At least this is what goes through my head and I'm guessing there are a few of you out there who feel the same way. 

 

But today, as I was racing on the freeway of hell, meditating and mantra-ing my way into serenity, this guy decides I'm driving too slow and hangs out way too close to my rear bumper for an uncomfortable amount of time. Meditate, meditate, meditate, mantra, mantra mantra... Low and behold a cop drives by. Well thank the goddess, the universe, and mother nature that I'm a massage therapist. Because sure enough, as a result of all that mantra-ing, I did NOT flick the guy off. Nor did I slam on my brakes. I just kept on keepin on. Neither one of us got a speeding ticket. I have done my good deed for the day.

 

You're welcome silver Audi man.

You're welcome...

 

 

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