Well, I’ve done it. I’ve shaved off every hair on my head besides my unibrow, all in the name of fighting cancer. On the night before Halloween I decided to shave a mullet into my hair, give my sideburns a touch of white trash, and generally rock out the trailer park look (my mom lived in a trailer park, so it wasn’t too hard). It was fun, got a lot of double-takes, and a lot of laughs which is what I was going for. Lots of homebrews, mead and smoked salmon were devoured, and we all had a great time. My brother and sister-in-law have a Fall Harvest party every year for all of us to indulge our pagan selves, and this year was no disappointment. Then on Halloween we took the little one out and he scored Mom and Dad plenty of candy (he’s only 10 months old) and had a ton of fun.
Now, however, I’m left with a bald head and face. I’ve only ever shaved off my goatee at most 10 times since I was 15. My goatee is a part of me. It’s my Burt Reynold’s ‘stache, it’s my gap in Madonna’s teeth. So the prospect of not having it for a month actually has been fairly jarring. I’m basically going to be completely uncomfortable with my face for a whole month. I’m going to be self-conscious of the ugly, patchy ‘stache that will eventually grow in about week 3 or so. I’m going to keep feeling my chin for my goat and realize there is nothing there anymore. This is going to be friggin weird.
Suddenly, this “grow a ‘stache for cancer” thing has turned into a month-long lesson in ego, in self, in attachment, and impermanence. And it seemed like such a silly little thing that shouldn’t matter at all. But I suppose this is my new perspective, my new lens. Things that were once simple have become much more complex, all so that I can see how simple (yet profound) they really are. Cheers.