Muscle Memory: The Hugeness of My Desire
by Rachel Doe Feb 14, 2016
I’ve grown up to be an achiever, so when I set out to do something, I want to (a) know what is is I’m doing and (b) do it right. Six months ago, when I worked in corporate law, that was fairly straightforward. Everything moves on an escalator upwards, each rank clearly defined (and uncannily like the military).
When I moved from that production-oriented world and into the industry of Orgasm I knew that would change, but I had no way of knowing how. I had been traveling fairly well, sinking my teeth into new projects and feeling my way through the range of under and overextension. Then, at the Intensive, Nicole said to me “I think its going to take you 20 years to have the kind of happiness you’re looking for.”
It was hard for me to stay with her as she continued talking. I was distraught. I felt lost at sea. I suddenly realized that I was deep in a maze with no clue how to get out. And the worst part was that in my free fall, I didn’t even want to pull the parachute. I felt like I was in a plane on a crash trajectory looking longingly at the eject button but refusing to push it.
In my OMs the next morning, everything irritated me. I cried. It was the same desperate feeling – that the path that I had chosen would torture me and I was nonetheless determined to proceed, but for reasons unbeknownst to myself.
I tried to hold it together as I told Nicole all this the next day. She replied “You must have seen the vision, because you moved so far so fast.” Underneath the brain fog that had me say “Maybe, but I don’t know what it is,” was a very subtle shift in my body. Muscle memory.
An hour later the fog had cleared. I remembered. I knew what I wanted, it was the only thing I wanted; it was why I moved to San Francisco, it was why I work for OneTaste. But I didn’t want to admit what it was because it was so so terrifyingly huge.
Huge and important. Huge, important, and impossible.
I want to end sexual violence.
(Photo Credit: Eric T White)