Thoughts Before Blast Off

Yesterday I decided to get my hairs did in preparation to going to Spacefest III (aka Space Camp).  I was overdue as my hair was getting way out of control.  I went in to my local barber shop during the middle of the day thinking it wouldn't be too crowded on a weekday.  I guess I got there just in time.  By the time I was done there were 7 people waiting (there are only 2 barbers).  Now, when I say barber shop, I mean the quintessential barber shop; rotating barber pole, sports playing on the tv, old timey barber chairs, Playboys on the magazine rack, wood paneling, the whole works. 

I don't go that often as my hair grows very slowly (once maybe every 4 months).  But what struck me on this particular day was just how much everyone who goes there is connected.  I swear, the barber knows every single person in town.  Every person who walked through that door, he greeted by first name.  I get the sense that, if I went in more regularly, I would probably know everybody who was anybody in that town and know more about the underlying politics than I probably would care to.

The highlight of the haircutting experience though was an older man who came in with his son to both get their hair cut.  I was listening to him talk when he was in the chair and the subject of age came up.  He was 91 years old.  I about fell to the floor.  He didn't act it, move it, sound like it, or complain about it.  He was talking about being born in the old country (he's from Italy), living in New York, and now renting an apartment near his son (who was 63, btw).  I wanted to take this man out to coffee and just talk with him.  He seemed like one of those people who just had amazing stories to tell.  At one point, another older gentleman came in and sat beside me and the barber was boasting how the guy in the chair was older.  Turns out it was only by 2 years.  Again, I would have never guessed it.

As I sat there, both waiting and in the barber chair, I realized that, yes, I am older.  And I don't mean that in the "oh my joints ache, back in my day, kids these days" kind of old.  It was like I had suddenly become a member of an elite club.  That I finally earned the right to be sitting there with these men in the shop. 

Of course, I type all of this while I'm giddy as a school girl thinking about leaving in just a few hours for Space Camp.  Maybe that's why I've never felt "old."  I still do what I want to do even if others might look at it as frivolous or laugh at me for doing something out of the ordinary.  I had a doctor's appointment yesterday after I got my hair cut and he asked me what I was up to.  I told him I was going on vacation and he asked where.  I sheepishly said I was going to Space Camp.  I found myself being a little embarassed telling someone outside of my social circle where I was going.  But he just smiled at me and started asking me all sorts of questions about it and I felt damn proud that I followed through with wanting to go.

That's what I enjoy about life.  Doing what I want to do and finding out that maybe it's not that crazy after all.  Do what you want.  Enjoy what you like.  Live how you feel.

I'm not dead yet.