Depressed? Get a haircut. Perhaps it is nothing more than the natural
consequence of being folicly challenged, but getting what’s left of my hair cut
has a profound effect on my emotional wellbeing. I woke this morning in an absolutely foul
mood. A feeling of deep depression had
me pinned to my cot. The warm blankets
seemed my only protection against the cold realities of my day. Up with the sun on a day I need not be,
forced to face another day of domestic plentitude. More laundry than one man can fold, dishes
with an unspeakable crust of a scientifically unknown origin, and two children
deep into the planning stages of their next misadventure . . . this was my
day. I grudgingly peeled myself from my
pillow and went about tidying up a bit.
Once a preliminary sweep of the house was complete and the matches had
been hidden from the children, I felt comfortable in taking a break for a quick
shower and shave. After a quick and
painful pass or two with the Wilkinson Sword, I looked in the mirror and
realized the pin sized orb atop my shoulders (my receptacle for these random
thoughts) was beginning to show signs of the male pattern baldness that I keep
hidden by keeping it regularly shaved.
Time for a haircut! Fortunately,
this project no longer requires the assistance of a beauty technician and the self-serve
manner with which I keep myself groomed agrees with my “do-it-yourself” nature. As the brownish confetti began to accumulate
at my feet, I realized with every piece that fell, a portion of my ill temper
seemed to dissipate. I was grooming
myself into a brand new man, both inside and out.
With a head and smile to rival Mister
Clean, I went about my day with renewed vigor.
No need for expensive counseling sessions or self-help books, just give
yourself a haircut and watch your worries melt away. With a clear, and now clean, head I was able
to focus my concentration on other pursuits.
As I busied my idle hands, my mind wandered to a recent conversation
with an OLD friend. Now, I have made it
quite clear that I have a general disdain for the terribly popular social
networking sites of the computer age. On
occasion, I am proven wrong and am man enough to admit it when I am. The six degrees of Sir Francis Bacon
principle (or Kevin Bacon if you prefer) cannot be better expemplified than
bearing witness to the marvel that is the world of Facebook and the like. I ordinarily pay my account about as much
attention as a red-headed step child, but a recent contact changed my
attitude. Ordinarily, and very
sporadically I use the account to post pictures of the kids for family members
to see since our current longitude is such that frequent visits are impossible. I keep my “friends” list relatively small as
it seems the broader you cast your net, the more “friends” seem to crawl out of
the woodwork. I keep a small group of
“friends” as there are many people in our lives that are merely acquaintances. I am old enough to know the difference
between a friend and an acquaintance, so the list remains small. “Befriending” old “acquaintances” leaves
little time to foster true friendship and what a mere passerby had for
breakfast is of little interest to me in my daily life. That being said, I was contacted by one of my
oldest friends, who, despite now sharing a profession with, had slipped off of
my radar for a number of years. This was
a fact that I now lament greatly, having had a chance to re-kindle this old
friendship.
As he pointed out, we have known each
other since we were 12. Shit, has it
really been that long? It seems we lost
touch after college, when life has a way of leading you in different
directions. We each went our own way and
seemingly found ourselves at the same destination several years removed. Strange the way life works. We couldn’t be further apart on the map, and
yet a few conversations with him had me thinking of old times I had forgotten
and the ease with which we communicate made me feel as though we had never lost
touch at all. Falling back into familiar
vocabulary and a time tested rhythm, we set about catching back up. We indeed share a profession, even though I
am on Sabbatical, and are still in the process of realizing the dreams we had
from our youth. None of it has turned
out as we had planned, but that is the way of things and I think we have both
been better for the diversions. We have
matured a bit, I am proud to say, and life lessons have grown us into men where
young boys once stood. The bond we share
is one built from anxiety. Holding each
other up through our formative teen years.
Like a band of brothers who have eaten the same dirt, the bond someone
shares with you from your youth can be the strongest you will ever have. They REALLY know you. They know the childish portion of your
current self. That part that is pure and
true. The part you are embarrassed to
admit, but has made you who you are today.
Sure, we have missed some landmarks in each other’s lives and that can’t
be observed without a bit of regret, but renewing a lost friendship has its
advantages as well.
I don’t know that absence makes a
heart grow fonder, but your appreciation for a friend’s life comes without as
much judgment and prejudice when you experience it years further down the road. When you spend your daily lives intertwined,
you sometimes lose an appreciation as to why you were friends to begin
with. Life will get in the way, one way
or another, and I think it often better to do so in the form of absence than a
common insult that drives people from each other’s lives when perspective is
eventually lost. I look forward to
continued communication from afar and one day we will meet again on one
continent or another. In catching up, we
obviously passed on the usual vital statistics . . . Kids . . . Wives . . .
Jobs . . . Pets etc. In relating these
stories back and forth, I was reminded that I haven’t shared some of the
important stuff through the limited content of my blog. Things such as how I met my wife. Important stuff that, if this is going to be
of real value to my children one day, I certainly need to share. In coming posts I hope to describe such
landmark events and reflect on them as I haven’t endeavored to before. As someone who prides themselves on his own
self-awareness, I have ignored and left out some truths about myself and where
this is all heading by not revisiting the past.
So, a big thanks to my OLD friend for helping me remember the importance
of those things we let slip into our past that deserve a spot in our present
and our future. Take care for now. R.
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