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L i s te n to T h e A B M P Po d c a s t a t a b m m /p o d c a s t s o r w h e reve r yo u a cce s s yo u r favo r i te p o d c a s t s 69 a massage in more than nine months. On Friday, March 13, I saw seven clients, gathered my laundry, and put away my supplies. I knew I probably wouldn't return the next week, but I had no concept of what was actually about to happen. Earlier on that last day, my most regular, and adamant, client—an 80-something- year-old butcher who came every Friday at 11:15 a.m. for nearly 10 years—scoffed when I said I might have to shutter my practice for a while. "David," he said, holding my eye contact, "I'll see you next week." His determination was so basic, so profound—something we were all trying to muster back in March. This isn't a big deal. We are going to keep on doing what we need to do. This will just go away. I knew his insistence was false pride, that deep-set human trait that gets us into so much trouble. The stubborn insistence that, with enough will, we can just make things stay the same—the belief that life tomorrow will look pretty much like life today. The inability to imagine how quickly and radically our world can change. I knew he was wrong, but I did not know how wrong. I locked the door of my office, walked down the dark street of New York City's wholesale district, and got on my bike thinking I'll probably just need to close for a few weeks. Ref lections On Touch In A Distanced World I haven't given By David M. Lobenstine WHAT I'VE LEARNED (SO FAR) FROM COVID BOGDAN DIRICĂ/PEXELS

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