Yesterday I had my first professional haircut in over five years. As most of you know, I really needed it. Since shaving all my hair on May 1 last year, no blade has touched my noggin. The ensuing shaggy mop and poofy beard of four months both got quite the trim this week. I felt Crusoe-esque, returning from the Caribbean and cutting away a lot of that hair away to find a face hidden beneath.
I got my hair cut at the same barbershop that I went to from about age 8 to 18, Govin's. The namesake's owner has long since retired taking his white mustache to other places, but his daughter and the other woman who worked there before are both still around. It was strange going back to a place I hadn't been to since high school. Coming home always provides a sense of how things change, but rarely am I away from most places in Eau Claire for more than a year.
As I sat in the chair and "the ratty bits" fell to the floor, I felt very different in a vaguely familiar place. The chair seemed about the same. The TV with the Nintendo 64 and jar full of Dum-Dums were still in the places were they once entertained me through the five minutes of boredom waiting for a chair. The space was much the same, which made me aware of how different I was from the 18 year old senior in high school who last entered that door to the jingling bell. Returning to a familiar place long neglected shines a bright light on who you've become.
I got my hair cut at the same barbershop that I went to from about age 8 to 18, Govin's. The namesake's owner has long since retired taking his white mustache to other places, but his daughter and the other woman who worked there before are both still around. It was strange going back to a place I hadn't been to since high school. Coming home always provides a sense of how things change, but rarely am I away from most places in Eau Claire for more than a year.
As I sat in the chair and "the ratty bits" fell to the floor, I felt very different in a vaguely familiar place. The chair seemed about the same. The TV with the Nintendo 64 and jar full of Dum-Dums were still in the places were they once entertained me through the five minutes of boredom waiting for a chair. The space was much the same, which made me aware of how different I was from the 18 year old senior in high school who last entered that door to the jingling bell. Returning to a familiar place long neglected shines a bright light on who you've become.