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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 77 You know that moment in a massage—about 10 minutes in—when the whole room seems to exhale? The client has settled in, the face cradle is adjusted, the temperature is just right (for now), the music is past the chirpy birds or gongs, and you're doing that thing they told you about in massage school: meeting the client exactly where they are. The client has, for lack of a better term, landed in the room. I miss that. Or what about the moment when you figure out where the pain is, but also why the pain is there? The client's eyes open, they look at you with a look of wonderment and relief, and you get further into your zone? I miss that. And then all those releases—of laughter, of tears, of a deeply buried pain that comes to the surface and you're there to hold it, to share it, to let that person know they're safe with you to be completely who they are? I really, really miss that. And here's the thing, I could go back tomorrow. I could email the manager at the practice where I'm a contractor and say—for the second time since March— I'm ready to come back and start seeing clients. I'm feeling like myself again. I could send that email in my draft folder to clients joyfully announcing my return. But I'd still be missing out—and so would my clients. KELLY KNOX/STOCKSY

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