The beard is gone

(Sung to the tune of "The Thrill Is Gone")

I shaved off my beard last night. Well, not exactly 'shaved,' but I trimmed it down to just stubble on my face. And... frankly, I'm kind of sad about it.

I suppose the main reason I cut it off is because - contrary to what many people think - it takes a great deal of time and effort to maintain a good beard. It is not just a matter of 'not shaving.' There is constant trimming, oil, balm, and... yes, I admit it... I used a blow dryer on mine. So, getting up at 4 am every weekday will be much easier not having to deal with all that.

Another reason for going beardless is... well... all the people who told me they didn't like it. Of course, most people don't use those words exactly. They say things like, "I don't know how you can stand that," or some such thing. You know what they mean though. It's like, somehow people think because it's hair on your face and not on your head it's okay to make fun of it. I've had several people tell me they can't believe the Y let me look like that. Um... okay...

Honestly, I suppose I found a little identity in having it too. Every now and then I would notice I felt a bit of a bond to other bearded bros. Something similar to how all motorcycle riders will wave at one another. I guess it made me feel 'different' but also part of a community at the same time. Now I'm just regular ol' me.

Some of the sadness comes from the idea of losing that identity and feeling I'm just another 'face in the crowd' now. Of course, the truth is, that's all I ever was. That's all any of us are.

I guess the biggest disappointment in shaving is the feeling of "giving up" though. When I started growing it I intended to have it until I finished my next marathon. So now that's not going to happen. There is some consolation in knowing I at least won't have a weird tan line across my face at the end of the summer.

I kind of wonder if the sadness doesn't really have to do with the beard at all though. I mean, not entirely anyway. I had to give a report to the church board on the parking lot, and I informed them I would not be doing it anymore after this season. Of course everyone says now what a great job I've done and how much they appreciate it. But none of them know what it has done to me. For me, it's not as much about the parking lot as it is about my inability to do the job. I've had to admit my inadequacies. Which, in and of itself, isn't that much of a deal. However, I took this responsibility on because I thought it would be a good way to build some self-confidence; to show myself that I actually COULD do something again. And.... it ends by having to admit that I cannot. I can't do that, and I can't even grow a stupid beard...

I know it's just a parking lot, and some silly facial hair. I know I don't need to re-earn anyone's respect or prove anything to anyone. I don't have to, but I wanted to. Maybe as much to myself as anyone else. And... I didn't.

So, it's another day. The thrill is gone, and you just get up and go to work like everybody else. One foot in front of the other; one day at a time.

Doris Day passed recently without much notice or fanfare. Que Sera Sera... whatever will be will be... Beardless.