Posted by Nixie
Sometimes clarity comes better with “who am I not”….especially when you want to leave wiggle room to be who you want to be. We tend to box ourselves in tighter on the positives than what we see as negatives. “Who am I not” requires more consideration and dedication…you are less inclined to adhere (bind yourself) to the absoluteness of the “who I am not” statement than you are to “who am I”.
Edit: Meaning that we tend to prevaricate when make statements about what we are not–“I’m not a liar”–because maybe one day we will lie… versus “I am a good person”–why yes! yes that is true. We hold the “what I am” tighter which causes conflict when we don’t live up to our ideal.
Sounds complicated. I discuss such things after a few beers. Mostly nod.
I’ve taken to getting my head shaved since the balding started. Balding in the slight loss of hairline sense. This may seem unnecessary, but you have to understand the Mexican hairline. It is fierce. It is part of an identity. Lose the hairline and the identity must be reevaluated.
The man whose vanity has slipped below concerns with hairloss is a man in a state of nirvana.
Balding is such a half-assed state to be in. No longer a lush head of black, glistening mane. Not nearly naturally bald enough. I probably won’t mind the horseshoe later in life but at this particular time I’m in no mood to be in an ether. It is or it isn’t. Full hair or bald.
Women (your post-pre- post-modern women in favor of depilation mostly below the neck) know shaving all too well, but shaving the face and head are intimate. You feel the gravelly slide of the razor inside your brain. It echoes in the ears. Handing the razor to someone else is an act of faith in humanity. You watch the scenes in Eastern Promises and Reservoir Dogs and remember that the hand that holds it is in a position of power.
I was at a parts store in early August. Still in Oregon. I paid with a credit card and gave my driver’s license to the woman at the counter. She wouldn’t believe it was me in a playful sort of way.
“I was 17 there,” I told her.
She laughed a bit and held it up. “You got everything in reverse. All beard
“It’ll be gray soon, too.”
She handed it back to me.
“Salt and pepper’s alright by me. You lost your tan there also.”
“Working on my Oregon tan.“
She smiled and cocked her head again, playful-wise. I thought to that on the night drive down. Her smile and what she said. I could get my tan back. It’d be hard not to get one.
It’s colder along the ocean than it was in the forests. The sun’s appearances are brief. The slightest breeze sends the shivers through my every hair when I swim and when I sweat. I feel everything inside my brain.