Haircut

I’ve been getting my hair cut at the same barbershop for the last three years or so. I’ve never gotten a bad haircut there, no matter who cuts it, and the prices are reasonable. It’s a comfortable place, kind of old school. A lot of vintage calendars, movie posters, and sports memorabilia. The owner is a young guy, in his 30’s, and grows his own tomatoes in pots out front. During the season I always have fresh tomatoes. And I don’t take that lightly.

The clientele is diverse. A lot of older gentlemen, and quite a few younger ones with some good ink. I hear a lot of stories that start with, “When I was in the service.”

They don’t take appointments, it’s first come first serve. You come in, put your name on the list, and wait.

The owner is busy today and I’m in a little bit of a hurry, so I take the first available barber. She’s new, or at least I haven’t seen her before. And short. I say that only because I am tall, 6’3”, and when I sit down in her chair our heads are almost the same level. Eye to eye, so to speak. She has a winning, constant smile, large brown eyes, and a thick accent.

“It hasn’t been cut in a while,” I say. Because she’s a barber, and that’s a good informative ice breaker.

“No, it’s long,” she responds. Noncommittal.

“I really prefer a scissor cut,” I add, “ But use the clippers if you need to.”

She gets to work, a wizard with the scissors, snipping away.

She talks and laughs a lot, and I mostly listen, trying to decipher her conversation with the accent. And through the mask. I smile, nod, finally ask her where she’s from.

“Vietnam.”

“But I’ve been here sixteen years.” She adds.

“Have a daughter, thirteen years old. She goes to school. Very smart. Loves to read. She reads her books to me and we laugh and laugh. Have a very good life here.”

“My uncle lives with us. Sells cars.”

“In Vietnam, we were very poor. No money. One year my grandmother buy a popcorn maker. We sell popcorn on the street, make some money. Next year everybody in our town has popcorn maker!”

More laughter. Her joy is pretty much constant. And contagious. I’m feeling better just sitting here listening, getting my hair cut.

And she continues.

“You know that show Mr. Bean?” (I do.) “He is so funny. We watch that show. Can’t stop laughing. Mr. Bean is funny!”

I make a mental note to go back and watch some more Mr. Bean.

Sometimes I need to be reminded why I’m here. On Earth. Human. To be needed, to feel joy, to not be afraid of pain. Or uncertainty. Or failure. And what I can do today to maybe make my world a little kinder place. Just get out of my own head and pay better attention to what’s around me. See the world for the three-quarters full place it is.

Distractions abound. I recognize that, and try not be distracted by the needless slights, the rudeness. The stuff that chips away at our enthusiasm, if we let it.

A wise person, I forget who, said –

“We spend our lives seeking comfort and security when what we really need is something to be enthusiastic about…”

I end up getting a great haircut, as usual, with enthusiasm. And of course something more, someone spreading her own joy to others, no extra charge.