On Differences of Opinion

Grace and kindness, lest we become as strangers

I lay on the table and slowly open my eyes, looking up at the rafters with the exposed air ducts. Music is quietly streaming into the room. The room is calm, a neutral beige with low lighting, and a few side tables holding supplies. I take a deep inhale and exhale slowly. On cue, I hear as my practitioner coming down the hallway in the enviable clogs I adore. She knocks on the door and comes in.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“What I want to know,” I say, “is what do you put in those needles that knock me out every time?”

She laughs. She’s a mother who is my age—post babyhood and meandering through menopausal adventures—and understands. She picks the needles out from me. “That’s just your nervous system telling you there aren’t any tigers to fight right now.”

Acupuncture, as odd as it may sound, is a therapy that has helped me crawl out from my relentless fatigue. It wasn’t so long ago that moving through my day felt like climbing water. Today, I am able to get up after a normative-INterr…