Don’t judge a book by its cover

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover. I discovered, on a recent smudgy clouded Wednesday evening in Wellington, staying at a faceless hotel after facilitating a leadership workshop, that this is most definitely the case.

And I discovered it in the most delightful, intriguing and moving way.

I’m currently in what my mother used to euphemistically refer to as “The Change”. This so-called Change means perimenopause, smooshed in with empty nesting, and the first time in a 26-year relationship without us being with kids.  I am questioning pretty much everything about who I am. 

A lovely change sandwich if you will.

But back to the book with its cover. 

I had booked an Ayurvedic massage – mainly because it was close to my hotel and we’re all about the importance of self-care, right? The front window to Beyond Skin is a little grimy. There are faded pictures of women with long manicured hands and pleasant looks on their faces. The waiting room is clean (whew) with the obligatory pot plant and more bland photos of serene women with flawless skin and happy countenances.

I sit down warily, unaware that this minute will be the last in this experience that could be described as bland.

Jeevan (who is obviously the owner and perhaps, I wonder, the only employee?) emerges from the back. She too, is middle aged. But I’m not sure if it’s the way she moves – or if she’s been drinking her own Beyond Skin cool aid – but it strikes me that she could be both 100 and 35 at the same time. Something about being in her presence makes my shoulders drop. I have never met this woman before, but I only just manage to resist the temptation to run into her arms and bury my head in the crook of her neck. 

 ‘Oh fuck. I must really need this massage,’ I mutter to myself. 

She leads me down the corridor and into the massage room. It’s warm and enveloped by essential oils that remind me of the pavement after it’s been raining – if that could be a smell. 

Instead of the usual beauty spa music, a pulsing Indian sitar plays. I am Pakeha from Scottish, English and Irish descent. This music shouldn’t feel familiar, but it does. My mother was a yoga teacher in the seventies, way before it was trendy and populated by young, lithe girls on Instagram. Mum would wear a purple leotard and make us do the Lion Pose or imagine a dove on our head. We even had a real Swami from India come and live with us for six weeks, which caused my slightly conservative father considerable consternation – but that’s a story for another day.

Maybe that’s why this music is not as unfamiliar as I thought...

Jeevan leaves the room and I undress and lay down on the massage table. So far, apart from the music, none of this is any different from how a massage usually starts. Yet here, my friend, is where things get weird and wonderful. Here’s also, when I get a lesson in not judging a book by its cover, among other things.

Jeevan re-enters the room and asks me to smell three oils and to choose one. One smells yucky; one I can’t smell at all (which I don’t let on because I am a people pleaser and want to do everything right); and the final one? Well, it shoots up my nostrils and into my heart and soul like the hit of heroin into a junkie’s veins.

She asks me quietly for permission to give me a massage. I answer yes because, once again, I’m good at doing what I’m told and reactively say yes to most requests of me. Plus it is, of course, the reason that I’m here and the thing that I have booked for? Yet somehow, her asking permission feels important - like a nurse or a doctor asking my child if it’s ok if they touch a part of their body before examining them.

Then, my massage begins. It’s a wild and crazy experience. 

On one level, there is me – a middle-aged woman, who looks like success on the outside but feels like she’s somehow becoming less of herself on the inside – getting a massage after running a leadership workshop with a group of partners at a law firm in Wellington.

Just a massage.

But on another level, it feels like my ancestors, Mother Nature, and some other unconditional loving presence who sees all my beautiful, broken self and still loves me, has turned up to help Jeevan give me the best massage of my entire life. This is like the best therapy or psychedelic trip I’ve ever heard about all in one. And I am stone cold sober.

To call it a massage feels like saying a pilgrimage is just a walk.

When my massage is finished, Jeevan leaves the room and I get dressed. I can’t stop big, fat tears from sliding down my face. When I gush my gratitude to Jeevan in the reception area, embarrassed and fumbling for my credit card, wiping away watery smudges from my cheeks with bewilderment – she simply nods. Exuding wisdom and kindness, Jeevan holds my hand like this is a totally normal response to her massages.

I’m going to pause this story now, as you’re probably thinking I’ve gone off the deep end – or have still not come back from whatever wild trip THAT WAS.

Like, where’s the leadership lesson in all of this, Suzi? I think there are some. I’ve reflected on the experience since, and a few things have stayed with me.

Don’t judge a book by its cover. Leaders can often misjudge people based on surface cues. People and things and ideas and opportunities might look grimy or unpolished on the surface. But if you can hold off your judgy voice for a minute and tune into your intuition or curiosity, you might be pleasantly surprised and learn a thing or two. If I had turned away the moment I saw the drab, inconspicuous shop front, I would have missed the best massage of my life.

We all need a helping hand at different times of our life. Sometimes those helping hands can come from the most unexpected places. Jeevan is a middle-aged (I’m guessing) Indian woman who I don’t know from a bar of soap. She is far removed from my usual world, but she was the help I needed and more. Don’t underestimate the power of unexpected sources of wisdom and support as a leader.

Go off the beaten track. Your medicine might not be an Ayurvedic massage. It could be striking up a conversation with someone who is really different from you in culture, personality or world view.  It could be that place you walk past every day on your commute from the train to your workplace that keeps catching your eye.

It could be following your curiosity – anything that keeps nudging you to look further despite the logic or conditioning that tells you otherwise. The point is that you never quite know where going off the beaten track will lead you. Trust the pull. 

Here’s to not judging books by their covers - or in my case, slightly dilapidated shop fronts.

Jeevan, you sure know how to deliver Beyond Beauty.