I have grown a beard.
It feels like a rebellious act because I know my wife doesn’t like it.
I can’t say that I set out to upset my wife by having grown my beard, but I can’t absolutely say that I have not.
I think a part of me is experimenting, and as I have not had any big public meetings this week at work, I have indulged myself in growing facial hair.
I think my beard makes me look quite distinguished, perhaps it is because it has quite a few grey flecks in its array.
My beard has attracted notice and a few comments and a few observations of silence.
This range of feedback ranging from silence to ridicule at the very extremes and polite banter, has stirred up within me, a sense that any change is met with diversity of opinion both from the self within, and the world without.
My beard, I think will have a short existence, I don’t think it will see in Christmas with me.
I will miss its warmth;
I will miss its courage;
I will miss its rebelliousness;
I will miss its colours;
I will miss its smile, yes, my beard has made me smile.
My next blog will be: Dizzy Spell