Farewell to a wealth of whiskers that have playfully mounted on my gills for years now. Farewell to an identity akin to a mountain man or a prospector or someone I wish I could have been in a different era. This is goodbye to all the comments thrown at my curled mustache and all its glory. It’s no more for the thick nest of shinelock under my chin or the ability to hide my face when my face was worth hiding. I may no longer be mistaken for a hipster or get hit on by cougars wishing to get back to their raptor days of saddling Burt Reynolds and losing fingers in locks of chest hair. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
For what is an everyday occurrence for most men, today was a very big day for me. I didn’t just shave off facial hair or shed stereotypes, but I said goodbye to something that has been a part of who I am for a long time. Today I have shaved off years – years that have accumulated in both my psyche and in the mirror. As each strand of brown and light brown and even lighter brown follicles fall to the cold tile, I stand agape at the stranger in the mirror as a younger slightly plump man stares back at me – the image foreign and unrecognizable.
Age, usually a non-issue for me, has lately become an issue. I’ve been feeling old and lethargic and yes I’ve been feeling 30 (or 31 for that matter). As creepy and corny as that is, it’s true. But somehow, no matter all other circumstance, shaving my face has lifted some of that. It has eradicated the hiding and cowering baggage amassed within my upper lip hair. So for now, this is goodbye. It’s a fresh canvas to paint yet another character and I look forward to meeting him in the future…. Or not.