Coincidences have always pushed me into choices I would not have otherwise made.
I wouldn’t have gone to college in Monterey. Wouldn’t have gone to Melbourne. I definitely wouldn’t be here in San Francisco at the moment, and almost certainly wouldn’t be
blogging glotting this from behind the reception desk at Pacific Tradewinds. Unlike most people, I like the idea that life is determined by chance and fickle fate. From my shoulders a great burden is lifted. One has only to look for destiny, and then accept it.
So when three people told me, on three separate occasions in the past week, that I should grow my beard back…
I like the new manhair. Unlike fur, which only grows a certain length, hair will keep growing until one looks like a kung-fu monk or yogic master. The hair on a man’s face is unique in that it’s the only hair exclusive to a single sex. It doesn’t keep the male face warmer, or scare predators or show dominance—it’s only purpose seems to be signalling that “I am a mature human male.”
I am a mature Human Male.