A Visit to the Barber

Societies grow great when people plant trees the shade of which they will never see.

The best time to plant a tree was 100 years ago. The second best time is now.

When I mention these quotes to people I often get a lot of quizzical notions around how I’m planning on becoming a forester or go on a jungle backpacking tour. Nothing against either pursuits, I wouldn’t put them outside the realm of possibility but both speak to a very literal interpretation of the proverbs. The reason I’m so drawn to these quotes is their metaphorical resonance for me. There’s this the wonderful children’s book The Man Who Planted Trees.

If you haven’t seen it yet, please watch this beautiful animated video of the parable. What I react to in this is the slowness, the calmness of a man who gets up every day and does his work without question and without reward. There is a quiet beauty to this. The man, against all odds and better judgement nurtures a savage valley into a lush landscape simply by planting seeds and taking care of them. For the less idealistic, more literal minded of you: I would point out that there is a story of this very thing happening in real life.

To me there’s something beautiful in celebrating the mundane; The every day; The small touches of life. What makes it wonderful is when you see the pieces as they connect to the whole of the big picture. Each and every step you take is a seed planted in the garden of your life. For each conversation, each hour on the couch, each word on the page you’re laying down the story of your life and how those actions affect the world. You’re planting the seeds of your life’s story. There are times when we all few small or insignificant but each of us changes the situation by simply being a part of this planet. You don’t have to be spiritual to find truth in this. It forms the foundation of the butterfly effect in the chaos theory of mathematics.

The interdependence of each action and the wonderfulness of the everyday has become a quite literal lesson for me recently. I have spent my Summer away from home base and returning recently has made me realize how many little things make up my life here. The little rituals around my apartment. The people in my neighborhood. Running errands, paying bills. Those everyday little things we do almost mindlessly, sometimes even with frustration. The short of my story is that I’ve been needing to get a haircut. I didn’t get a haircut before I left Los Angeles because as we say so often in New York, “I have a guy.”

Jon is this guy who cut my hair out of a barber shop in Brooklyn. I know he was popular because every time I would call and ask for Jon he was often booked up. I could never remember his schedule but I started to find this rhythm where I could find times he was around. I like chatting with him. At first it was awkward. He was the kind of guy who liked to take about guy stuff like sports. He’s kind of this funny outgoing dude. He liked to go to concerts out in the woods. He spent his weekends going on these hiking trips upstate. He commuted from Long Island to Brooklyn until recently moving to the Borough but he was never able to shake that thick Long Island accent.

The accent spoke to something almost missing in modern New York. The mid-century idyllic suburbia east of the city that doesn’t seem to exist in the same ways anymore. As a transplant to New York, myself, I’ve always romanticized in a funny way those visits my friends would make out to the island to visit family. It made my haircuts with Jon feel like a trip out to visit family — at least in some small measure. I never knew I could be nostalgic about getting a haircut.

I had trouble getting ahold of the barber shop the past couple weeks since my return. For some reason their phone was disconnected and I couldn’t find a way to get in touch. I started to get worried and a little stressed as I just craved that moment of grasping onto some regularity. That visit that reminded me of home. I even messaged Jon on Facebook but didn’t hear back. I figured it was because we didn’t know each other that well.

In one last desperate attempt I tried the disconnected phone number and it was back in action. I could now call and get an appointment. There was just some piece of relief in knowing that they were there.

Then I ask, “Can I book an appointment with Jon?”

“I’m sorry, man. Jon passed away three weeks ago.”

I wasn’t even sure if I heard that correctly. I assumed the meant that he quit. But I checked Jon’s Facebook page and suddenly, this warm, funny, bro-ish Long Island guy is no longer on this planet. What was for me another task, an errand dropped out and I realized that I never even considered his impact on me. I thought of him as a nice guy, a guy who showed up and did his job humbly and respectfully. He also had a streak where he seemed like a wisecracker or troublemaker.

I never really got to see that side of him. Never got to be his friend. I never got to confirm or deny the life he seemed like he must have lived outside of those moments in the barber’s chair. It’s all just speculation and now there’s just the reality of him not being here anymore. Which is not only sad but tragic. I don’t know much of the circumstances of his death nor do I really care to. I just wish that I could speak to the importance getting a haircut with Jon was to me.

For so many it’s just routine, another errand, another stop along the way. But these moments in life are our life.

For so many it’s just routine, another errand, another stop along the way. But these moments in life are our life .They make up the tapestry of our story. Each moment is a seed you plant. Each conversation, each interaction, each person in your life all are the seeds that plant trees of life. When I think about my actions and what I want to do, even in those small moments in life, I think about the story I want to be told after I’m gone. Jon was just my barber but he painted a picture for me and I feel the loss just as deeply as I would a friend.

It’s important not to let these moments slip by. All the work we do and all those tiny distractions and all those little things that keep us moving on a treadmill are adding up to something. What that thing is, is up to you.