Is my beard my mid-life crisis? Is this it?
Or at least how it starts? Like now that I’ve taken step one, I can just go off the handle, buy a
chainsaw motorcycle, and start smoking joints that I buy from some teenage neighbor?
Pre and post beard. You can easily see the difference.
Is this when I finally stop living a life dominated by fear? Is then when I come to terms, somewhat violently, with the fact that life is short and meant to be lived? Despite all the responsibilities? Is this how it starts?
I love my beard more than a normal male is supposed to love his facial hair. Way more. Inappropriately more. Today I stared at myself in the mirror for about 10 minutes and emerged finally to confess to my wife that I think I look hot with my beard. She realized how long I had been in there examining my face in the mirror and she couldn’t stop laughing.
And I’m not just trying to be funny either. When I’m being really honest with myself, I think the beard makes me appear more attractive, older, tougher, and gives me a slightly uneven sense of creative nerve. It changes me. It shows the world that somehow I’m confident enough to just try this new thing out, and you know what, it’s working, it’s WINNING.
Life is short. Live it to the fullest.
Saturday night. Labor Day Weekend. 11pm. Sitting alone in my family room, listening to Ben Harper and watching random old photo albums on Apple TV, blogging, and drinking a bottle of wine.
It doesn’t get any better than this.
But it kind of doesn’t. That’s the weird thing. It’s hard to explain to non-parents. They think our lives sound so boring and mind-numbingly painful. Sometimes they are. Like tonight, there was a good 2 hour stretch of pure hell. I tried every trick known to man to calm a 3 week old baby. Every one.
What the kid needs is a fake-boob bottle. I give him 3 ounces from a regular bottle, and he takes all of that, but he won’t go to sleep unless he’s got a real boob in his mouth. No matter how tired he is, no matter how full. So maybe we get me a boob. I think this was the premise for Meet the Fockers or something, I certainly didn’t invent the idea.
Anyway those 2 hours sucked. But the rest of the day was great.
I took my boys hiking to the Belknap Preserve in Wilton. We ended up getting a little lost, and the shortcut back to the car involved lots of really really tall grass, and they both kept getting tripped up and were afraid but ultimately confident in me. And when we got through to the other side it was glorious. They were so proud of themselves.
We went to Little Pub for lunch – Sam’s first time – without incident. Such a great place.
And then I played Monopoly on the iPad for 2 hours with my 4 year old, who is learning a surprising amount about capitalism. “He’s in jail, Daddy! Yeah! Does that mean we can buy more houses now?”
Man, it was awesome. And now I’m writing and listening to good tunes. And drinking a decent bottle of wine. So life, on balance, is pretty full right now. It’s not the stuff of mid-life crises. I don’t think. It’s just a little facial hair, just a rare flower to smell along the journey.
I do wish I’d run into that high school neighbor kid though.