A close shave

As alluded to in my last post, I've shaved off my beard (and moustache) after almost 14 years of continuous wear. I'm also trialling the use of contact lenses rather than spectacles, so the combination of these two changes is quite noticeable - although remarkably one friend noticed the absence of glasses but not the absence of the beard, although she'd never seen me without the latter.

If you know me well, this change in appearance might be puzzling, as I've always exhibited a rather minimal interest in how I look or how I dress. Why start now? In one way I want to draw a line across this year, to mark off the past from the future. I wonder if some cultural traditions of grief (wearing black, or shaving one's head) could have a similar function.

The other reason is more complex. Joan Didion, in "The Year of Magical Thinking" comments that 'Marriage is a denial of time'. After 40 years of marriage she still thought of herself as though she was still 25. Over years of marriage Jen and I had developed a deep acceptance and trust, knowing that we were loved by the other regardless of how we looked. Not that we still wouldn't try to look good even for each other, but it wasn't so important. Some people might label that 'Letting yourself go'.

So now after Jen's death, I can no longer see myself through the eyes of someone who loved me, but instead have to imagine a different and more critical scrutiny. In one of Catherine Deveny's columns in the Age, she told the story of a woman who is standing before a mirror adjusting her looks, when her boyfriend says 'You don't need to to do that, you'll always be beautiful to me'. She replies 'I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for the next guy'. Even though there's a deep cynicism in that quote about relationships, it has a peculiar resonance for me now. I am reconsidering the choices I have made in the past, and how I look now. It's not that image is particularly important, or that it alters anything of value about me.

I did try to imagine Jen's response if she could see me again without a beard. I'm sure she'd be supportive (as she was of so many choices, because they were my choices). Her reflex action would be to reach forward and run her hand over my face. It is those simple gestures of intimacy that I miss as much as anything else.