Black Clouds and Sunflowers

It may be scary, but that’s only because it matters. Found that lovely little quote in an article today, and had one of those "aha!" moments. Finally, words to describe my feelings. Sometimes I embrace change. I'm pretty good at it in my professional life, for example. I've gotten comfortable with tearing head first into a new job and picking all the juicy fruits of the labor. Quite the variety of fruit over the years, but I've delved so far into myself through it, and have grown so much. It used to be scary, but now it's not. Even saying hello to an old boss the other night at my current job, where he thought I ran the place, was enough proof that I've probably even exceeded my own expectations at this stage of my life. Excuse me while I pat myself on the back for fighting so hard to get here. Other times, I do not embrace change. Or I at least don't go down without a fight. I have a really hard time with intimacy, platonic or otherwise.

Dear Client, Admittedly, I was nervous about our appointment. I know that your body cannot handle the kind of massage I prefer to give, simply because older bodies tend to me more fragile than those of well-trained athletes. But I refuse to let my preference for working out a rehabbed shoulder girdle get in the way of learning something from every client. So I met you with an open mind. And let me tell you, our session was one of my favorites to date. You are not the kind of client to bliss out, maybe snooze a little, only respond to my voice when it's absolutely necessary. No, you wanted to spend the whole time getting to know each other. You asked me a thousand questions at least. Normally, I only give out bare-minimum answers. Yesterday, I decided to be a human as well as a massage therapist, and offer conversation right back. Turns out, you were quite interested in who I am as a person. All in one hour, you learned where I'm from, told me my high school has a great

I've become fascinated with the idea that there is a difference between an artist and a craftsman. I'm mid-way through Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain, in which he describes his life's work in restaurants. It's rather funnier than I anticipated, and riddled with brutally honest truth about the industry, especially in the Northeast. All this entertainment, and I'm still struck by the fact that he chose to make a distinction between an artist and a craftsman: When he assembles a team for his line, he would rather have a cook who can crank out dishes quickly and consistently and takes pride in this ability (craftsman) instead of a cook who becomes inspired to throw a sprig of rosemary in of his own accord (artist) and potentially ruin everything. I have always thought of cooking as a sort of art, but I had never put concentrated thought into the craftsmen who can recreate the chef's art with stunning precision and regularity. Having been immersed in r