Rituals are important. They comfort us. Sometimes we call them routines, but if we do it long enough and follow a certain pattern, we should call it what it is, a ritual. Sometimes rituals give us comfort; other times it brings comfort to others. Sometimes a ritual is just expected.
I remember pretty clearly the first time I shaved. It was a disaster. Dad was away on a work trip in San Diego. My brother was in college. I had my mom and my cousin in the house and I had to shave for ROTC. Keep in mind, this was before the age of cell phones— unless you were wealthy. My first mistake, probably, was not to get a disposable razor and instead using my dad’s razor. After washing my face and lathering up with shaving cream, I promptly cut myself. For safety’s sake, mom got me an electric which I used for a while.
I never got into it though. I liked the whole shaving ritual.
Fast forward a little over 20 years and I find I can’t get the blades that I like. As a result I keep cutting myself. Life has also been so hectic that I’ve actually found that I MISSED shaving a few spots, probably for a few days on end. I usually find these spots after a television interview. Not the best of times to find them.
I’m back to using an electric. No cuts. No missed spots. But I miss the ritual. Washing the face. Lathering the shaveing cream. Putting it on. Slowly shaving it away. Maybe I can get used to a new ritual— who knows. But not bleeding myself, that’s kinda cool too.
