Growth process

The garage door was open to Rudy's, the the barber shop up the street from my house. This, my day off, seemed like a good day for a haircut.

Judging from haircuts I've been in Portland for sometime, close to a year. As you may or may not recall -- see A haircut buzzed if not -- I've paid for cuts before here. I've paid for several haircuts (3) and I'm not just saying that to make you think I'm not a deadbeat. My last haircut, however, was given to me by a friend, alcohol induced. Me first, then him, in my garage after a barroom discussion.

"Sean, shave my head," I get out as beer runs down my chin.

It was free, and left me feeling loads lighter, ready to become something different. A friend shaving your head when you are drunk is a completely different from visiting a shop. It's cleaner, feels like change is about to occur in your life, and satisfyingly so. You want to change, and are ready for new beginnings. It's a birth with experience to come.

I tell Lindsay, my clipper today, that, "I'm recovering from a shaved head incident." She smiles and goes to work.

What feels good about a haircut, when you're getting one, is the way a female touches, holds, and trims with gentleness. It helps if her smell is intoxicating, and smile sweet. A paid cut, a scalp sculpture, is the experience. You don't walk away wanting to change, ready to be reborn. The experience seeps into your scalp and leaves you changed.

"Some curls back there," I say to Lindsay.

"Yeah," she says with a that smile. "It's a funny growth process."

A few more snips and she was done. "That was nice," I say, referring to the time in the chair rather than the final outcome. My hair looks good; I feel good, it's as if the haircut cleaned up the inside of my head as well as the outside.

I've been here almost a year, and have had four haircuts. I'm different now, sure. From experiences. Because of haircuts.

Life: "It's a funny growth process," Lindsay voice re-peats in my head.

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