I’m the opposite of spa music
pinned like a monarch
They say it makes you relax. But it stresses me out. Yup, I’d sooner lie there in silence then suffer through the endless bloody undulations of spa music. It makes sense when I think about it. And I had a long motionless thinking session a couple of weeks ago.
If you’ve had acupuncture, you’ll know the feeling of being pinned to the table like a butterfly on display. I don’t know how it works for the monarch, but I know if I move a muscle, I risk the acupuncture needle touching a nerve, setting off that weird and unpleasant sensation akin to hitting your funny bone. No-one likes that. So I lie in a state of paralysis, hoping the magic impacts of qi will rebalance my yin and yang. Do I believe in this? I don’t know. I know I really like my acupuncturist and we share some pretty intense stuff before and after those long periods of being frozen in place with her needles. And I think I am sleeping and digesting better lately, due to her efforts. So I go.
But recently, she left the spa music going, forcing me to analyze it, and making me a captive audience to my own distaste. If you could hear beige, it would sound like spa music. More specifically it lacks rhythm, harmony, and melody. Its note range is narrow and it has no changes in tempo. Each piece is indistinguishable from the one before and they all lack beginnings, middles, and ends. My conclusion? Spa music is the opposite of me.
I hate aimlessness. My days are full of purpose. Even when I go for a walk, I have a destination and a km goal in mind. I’m prepare to deviate if there’s a reason to, like if I run into a walking buddy who’s going somewhere else or if there’s an interesting bird or rodent to watch. For the most part, though, I say fuck the journey; I’m for the destination.
When I was building Chandlerville, I assured my contractor I valued completion over perfection. And I really meant it. I was recently told by a colleague I should have GSD on my business card. What’s it stand for, I inquired? Gets shit done, I was told. Can’t argue with that.
So back to spa music. An internet search generates an AI overview of its purported benefits:
Stress Reduction: Spa music, often featuring gentle instrumentals and nature sounds, can help calm the nervous system by slowing down breathing and heart rate, potentially lowering blood pressure and stress hormones. Nope, nope, nope. The stress of all those pointless meanderings makes blood pound through my body in defiance.
Improved Focus and Concentration: The calming nature of spa music can help quiet the mind, making it easier to concentrate on tasks or activities. Argh! It’s the contrary for me - my mind becomes fixated on trying to find some redeeming feature to the tinkling BS coming from the speaker.
Enhanced Well-being: By promoting relaxation and reducing stress, spa music can contribute to a sense of calm and overall well-being, potentially improving sleep quality and mood. When my acupuncturist returned to the room and quieted the infernal undulation, we laughed and I immediately calmed, so if the point was to work me into a lather and then relieve me of the stress, mission accomplished!
Pain Reduction: Some studies suggest that certain types of music, including spa music, can help reduce the perception of pain. This was the opposite of my experience - emotional pain resulted from the so-called music.
Nature Sounds: Spa music often includes sounds of nature like running water, birds chirping, and wind chimes, which can evoke a sense of peace and tranquility. Why to try to replicate this musically? I walk daily on the Humber River listening to actual running water, actual birds, and achieving actual peace and tranquility.
The good news is that with maturity comes the confidence to share the experience with my acupuncturist and we had a good laugh about it. Just like the time I spent 45 minutes pinned there, the only client in the building at 7 pm, horribilising that she’d forgotten me and gone home. I imagined being discovered the next morning with all my blood congealed in the bottom third of my horizontal body from being immobile for eight hours. Nothing like being the neurotic last client of the day. But at least that time, she’d left me listening only to the sound of my own breathing.
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