Yesterday, I finally had all I could take of the Chainsaw Massacre bubble bath times due to my razor blade; a brand name, which I will not disclose in order to protect the Bic, I mean the innocent. I tromped into the pharmacy, breezed past the Band-Aid section, which I have more recently become familiar with, and invested in a high quality Venus razor. Here is the thing about razors. Unless you’re some sort of female protestor who doesn’t shave or wash her hair, or you are a career-minded man (who makes way more money than me due to gender) and is entirely too busy selling real estate and abstaining from the beard topiary art form, you will likely employ the use of a razor at some point in your life. It’s a very personal item. And as with most things personal, it can really cut you to the deepest part of your core if you choose the wrong one, or you disclose the left leg to it too soon. Razors are the reason people “ooh and ahh” over you, or why grown men walk around with pieces of tissue stuck to their cheeks and chins.
We’ve all had these sorts of friends, the ones we share a little too much with and they slice us open like the very songs Cat Stevens writes. Isn’t it always that darn first cut that is the deepest? The ones that have no real interest in the give and take of friendship and would rather offer you a tutorial in bloodletting by being a friend leech, rather than pour wisdom and honesty on you, and help you look good in your favorite running shorts. Funny how the former are the ones that are labeled “disposable” and they are a dime a dozen. The best razors, er, I mean friends, will appreciate you as much as you appreciate them. You pay a higher price, but in the end, the relationship is magical. Yesterday I embarked on the start of a beautiful, less-painful, long-term razorationship.
It’s often easier not to make things personal. When someone tells you that if you “Just put a little makeup on and you would look JUST like so-and-so.” Or when someone hands you a pair of extra large men’s long underwear and says it looks like it would fit you perfectly. And, I don’t recommend thinking it’s “all about you” when someone inappropriately flashes you while you’re hiking…It’s best to spare your white pillowcase the mascara streaks by not taking these statements personally. People often just outwardly portray the inner reflections of themselves and their fellow humans happen to be witness to such events.
This morning, as I was dropping dishes around the kitchen floor because I love to spend my morning sweeping up ceramic, I could not help but eavesdrop on the breakfast conversation. The two munchers were smacking their lips on crepes and almond butter, and discussing a book in which a man is wrongly accused of a crime and thrown into a very uncomfortable prison. His bed his hard as a granite slab, the food is of course liver and porridge corn slop, and he only gets to see the sunlight every so often during a basketball match against someone who will pulverize him if he doesn’t let them win. The sentence was ten years, if my memory hasn’t shriveled up like a raisin, and I heard correctly after turning up my hearing aid. He walked around for a long time miserable and angry, blaming Who Sa Whats It and She Body Whose It. Then it dawned on him, that he had NO ONE to blame. His life had brought him to this point. It was not to judge, nor not to be angry about. It was nothing personal, perhaps it was free will, perhaps not. He did not know, nor need to know. It changed his entire perspective and he began doing his best (keeping up!) rather than taking it personally. It was this shift in his mindset, this awakening, that caused him to be kept up.
There are times however, when I am just dying for it to be and liking it to be personal. That’s when I either go out and invest in a new razor (although I have no need ever again for a new one!), or I begin to count the ways in which my soul and the soul of others connect. Things that could never be going on between two other human doings on this entire earth. Little symbols come my way that are strictly for my eyes only and I cherish them. When my fishing line catches a trout that I can speak the same language of, or I am finding that I can walk someone else’s road with them, and actually make sense of it all. It makes me wonder if, some things, some of the very best, most connected, and least painful things ARE personal and better that way. Goodness, I am getting all teary, looks like I will be the one with tissues stuck to my face all morning. Maybe there is a balance, and some things are little gifts just for YOU as an individual? Perhaps, it’s a very personal universe.
Personally, it’s all a mystery. But Dave Matthews seems to have the idea…he is not just singing to nobody.
On a Personal Note,
— Emily —