Maybe i did it because i was feeling vulnerable, like i wasn’t good enough, like i couldn’t “hang”. But i couldnt even look at myself in the mirror anymore, i couldnt believe where all of my patience had failed to bring me. I looked into the future, and saw what was there, and i took the beard trimmer and i cleaned up my beard.
It might be because all four members of my band have beards (three of us with glasses), plus the handful of other friends i have who are bearded (and bespectacled). It feels silly sitting at a table with 3 bearded friends, all with glasses, all drinking cheap beer. But, i can’t blame it on others. It wasn’t the thoughts of those around me that I was worried about. Most of the time I feel pretty alright looking a little rough around the corners, but i had failed myself. I was ashamed. I told myself that i would let him grow. That i would push through the tough times of beard ownership, allow it to develop through it’s inevitable awkward stages. But i cut it’s life short. It was not where I wanted it to be and at times I hated him for it. Like an embarassed 13 year old with a boner in math, i headed for the bathroom. It’s not completely gone. No, my beard still remains, although at maybe a quarter of the length. But even at it’s greatest length, it was still just a near-beard. It didn’t fill in where it should; only where it’s most red; only on my chubby second chin. My mustache, however, remains. He is my pride and joy. He is at his best, and that makes up for a lot of the self-doubt i have about the rest of my facial hair. I love my mustache, and that means a lot to me. And with my beard trimmed neatly, my mustache is allowed his time in the spotlight.
Others can not deny a man of his beard, only he has that power.