The End of an Era

The other day while I was looking through the medicine cabinet for my nose hair clippers, I came across my hair brush. It's been awhile since I'd seen it. It's been even longer since I've used it.

If you haven't seen me in a while, say about a decade, you might be surprised to know that I am nearly bald.

My hair brush hasn't had much to do lately except act as a stand for our tube of Neosporin. In fact, I can't remember the last time I used it. I got to thinking, have I even used it since we moved into this house? I used to use it, so when we moved here, I likely put it in the medicine cabinet out of habit. But we moved into this house in 2000. That's nine years. I don't think I've used my hair brush in nine years.

Then I got to thinking about all the other things that don't seem like that long ago but are almost nine years old too. I started dating Rebecca in 1998. That's eleven years ago! We've been married since 2000. I've worked for the IRS since 2000. That's nine years! I've been listening to the music I've been listening to for years. I've been wearing the clothes I've been wearing for years. The people I know, I've known them for years.

My life has moved into the "decade" phase. Most of the things that I've done can be measured in decades now.

"I've known her for about a decade."

"We've lived in Alexandria for about a decade."

"Remember that time . . . when was that? About a decade ago."

"Gosh. I haven't brushed my hair in about a decade. There just hasn't been any need."

I'm not a sentimental guy. I realize it's time to move my brush from the medicine cabinet where it is taking up space that can be more productively used by a box of Dora the Explorer band aids to a less intrusive spot in the linen closet. But I haven't done it yet. I feel like there needs to be some fanfare. My hair is gone. Did it have to take my youth with it?