I had a hair appointment after work yesterday afternoon. The older I get, the longer it takes to keep my hair looking presentable. Well, the actual appointment time itself is about the same; that is, the magical hair transformation process hasn’t changed. My own commitment time has increased because procrastinating on getting my hair done, while formerly just a minor annoyance, now results in some really bad hair days. Not pretty. So I have to keep on top of the appointment schedule. No stretching from 6 to 7 weeks anymore.
The process is somewhat time consuming and at this particular business location, on a late afternoon, no one else is present. Just the stylist and me. So we talk for a couple of hours. About family, recipes, death, relationships, entertaining, shopping, love, hurt, faith, heritage.
We share an amazing amount of information for two people that only see each other about 8 times per year.
I was there the afternoon that she received the telephone call with the news her father had died. I remember watching the numbness steal over her as she held the phone.
She was the first person I told that my former spouse had left me. She remembered how she felt when her own marriage ended in similar circumstances and she understood. She had no judgement.
I spend 8 hours per day in close proximity to a half dozen or so people here in my office. I love my employer and I admire the competence of my colleagues. But I do not have anything approximating the feeling of confidentiality with my colleagues that I do with my hair stylist.
So what’s up with that? There is definitely substance to that old saying about hairstylists.
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