Yesterday was the kind of day I would like to forget but surely won’t. The kind of day when you swear your name was drawn in the have-a-bad-day lotto. It started on a stressful, unpleasant note and pretty much took a chaotic path from there similar to how a blown up balloon acts when you release it . . . including the sound.
I’ll come around to the shaving part momentarily, I promise.
Everyone has bad days, of course, they’re part of being human. Though my prior 24 hours sucked long and hard I am keenly aware I am still better off than many: I have not been diagnosed with cancer; though aging I am in fairly good health; I have an income; I’m not perpetually recovering from some life-altering addiction.
I have recently begun a little morning experiment to try and shift focus from negative to positive, an erstwhile endeavor, but you quickly learn that not everything you throw at the wall sticks. Soldier on, right?
I ask myself “What am I grateful for?”, soon followed by “Who might I thank today?” Simple but powerful questions that can do wonders for vaporizing the morning blues; ahh, but the day is long.
I have many things to be grateful for: my best friend whom I adore and cherish (I call her Bella Dea); my son who is a solid citizen and though he doesn’t know it makes me proud every day, to name a couple.
I got up this morning (currently in NC for work) and took a nice warm shower on what has been a very cold morning out here. Dried off and stood in front of the mirror and stared a moment—felt that nagging question burrowing up from within . . .”Why? What the ‘f’ did I do wrong?”
Brought my Atomic Rocket with me, a small wooden bowl, my trusty Merkur 38C, and my sample of WSP Barbershop. Started to lather and then started applying to my face. Then it hit me—just relax, steep yourself in this time, in the process. Nothing else matters now but these next, precious few minutes.
And I did.
I set aside the mental devils trying to suppress my better angels and just focused on my shave. Every stroke, every new pass and re-application of lather was a kind of salve, The emotion suckers and policy chewers of yesterday had no place in my moment of Zen. Yesterday I would have thought men such as these, men who hide behind worn out business-speak and a disinterest in listening don’t deserve the graces they’re given . . but this morning, no . . .this morning they had no place in my time, in my private respite from they’re hubristic delights. They do not belong here with me.
And so I discovered an emphatic underscore to my morning shave. I am grateful that I have sense enough to stand tall and stiff arm the soul-sucking leeches in favor of a pursuit of good grooming. A bad day can linger if one lets it, but thanks to my daily shave routine I have an ally against the plaque build-up of a crappy day.
And, gentlemen, I am grateful to those of you here who continue to provide a willing ear to bend, an ever-present will to help us all remain mindful of why we enjoy our rituals with brush, soap, and razor in hand.
I’ll come around to the shaving part momentarily, I promise.
Everyone has bad days, of course, they’re part of being human. Though my prior 24 hours sucked long and hard I am keenly aware I am still better off than many: I have not been diagnosed with cancer; though aging I am in fairly good health; I have an income; I’m not perpetually recovering from some life-altering addiction.
I have recently begun a little morning experiment to try and shift focus from negative to positive, an erstwhile endeavor, but you quickly learn that not everything you throw at the wall sticks. Soldier on, right?
I ask myself “What am I grateful for?”, soon followed by “Who might I thank today?” Simple but powerful questions that can do wonders for vaporizing the morning blues; ahh, but the day is long.
I have many things to be grateful for: my best friend whom I adore and cherish (I call her Bella Dea); my son who is a solid citizen and though he doesn’t know it makes me proud every day, to name a couple.
I got up this morning (currently in NC for work) and took a nice warm shower on what has been a very cold morning out here. Dried off and stood in front of the mirror and stared a moment—felt that nagging question burrowing up from within . . .”Why? What the ‘f’ did I do wrong?”
Brought my Atomic Rocket with me, a small wooden bowl, my trusty Merkur 38C, and my sample of WSP Barbershop. Started to lather and then started applying to my face. Then it hit me—just relax, steep yourself in this time, in the process. Nothing else matters now but these next, precious few minutes.
And I did.
I set aside the mental devils trying to suppress my better angels and just focused on my shave. Every stroke, every new pass and re-application of lather was a kind of salve, The emotion suckers and policy chewers of yesterday had no place in my moment of Zen. Yesterday I would have thought men such as these, men who hide behind worn out business-speak and a disinterest in listening don’t deserve the graces they’re given . . but this morning, no . . .this morning they had no place in my time, in my private respite from they’re hubristic delights. They do not belong here with me.
And so I discovered an emphatic underscore to my morning shave. I am grateful that I have sense enough to stand tall and stiff arm the soul-sucking leeches in favor of a pursuit of good grooming. A bad day can linger if one lets it, but thanks to my daily shave routine I have an ally against the plaque build-up of a crappy day.
And, gentlemen, I am grateful to those of you here who continue to provide a willing ear to bend, an ever-present will to help us all remain mindful of why we enjoy our rituals with brush, soap, and razor in hand.
