In my 20s, I was somewhat squeamish about getting naked before a complete stranger. As a mother, I can attest to having long ago lost any sense of modesty upon giving birth, so in my 40s, my naked-ness before a stranger is no big deal.
In my 20s, I felt completely entitled to anything I could do to treat myself. In my 40s, the thought of dropping $80 plus a tip and finding a couple of hours’ free time for the privilege of doing so is laughable. Thank goodness for Groupon!
In my 20s, I would completely relax, to the extent that I actually fell asleep once despite the jack-hammers tearing up the sidewalk just outside the spa’s entrance. In my 40s, all I could think about on a recent appointment was where did the masseuse get an hours’ worth of pan flute music? Was it a cd? Can you stream that on Pandora or Spotify? Would it be rude to ask her to change the station?
In my 20s, I would relinquish my body to the pain/pleasure of working out the various kinks, the short jabs digging in and the smooth strokes releasing the tension, thinking “this hurts so good.” In my 40s, all that poking and pushing and pulling just plain hurts.
In my 20s, a masseuse was most likely to remark on the tightness of my calves due to my running habit. In my 40s, a masseuse is most likely to ask whether or not I’ve had the moles on my back looked at by a dermatologist.
So I have a new business idea: a combo masseuse/dermatologist. Just imagine being able to relax while simultaneously having suspect moles circled for future removal in one easy appointment, enjoying uninterrupted pan flute music while you do so.