Every man, no matter what age, wants to at one time or another grow a beard.
Then one day they try it and your genetics show through. Patchwork to needles, lay flat or go bushman, only the code knows. While I had a brush with some extended chops and a jowel line a few times in the past 20 years I can’t recall ever just seeing who I was with a beard.
This year in the Carolina’s it’s been much colder than usual and my skin hates dry cold–and being a skydiver hey, let’s face it (heh), some added protection on the way down sounded like a good call. Well that’s the way I’m going to remember it.
As with anything new it created more growth than that on my face. You learn something about how you see yourself, how others see you, and by the way–you can stroke it. New sensory too.
Times are quickly changing. Maybe this has been a bridge for me. As I soon pair back what I let grow I will be left with a memory of visages of who I can be, pondering the different embodiments that I can take.