Maps

When I was a teenager, I had a slightly outdated map of world that I had found in a pile of old National Geographic magazines that my dad picked up for me at a charity shop. It was a central feature on my bedroom wall at my dad's place. My dad is big on setting goals, dreaming big, reaching for the sky; and so I tended to be in a future-oriented mindset in the weeks I was at my dad's. I used to put little yellow stickers on all the places in the world that I wanted to visit. I was really selective about it and I poured over that map in detail. The amount of time I stood staring at the wall, considering what it would be like to walk the streets of Tokyo, or to experience the idiosyncratic wildlife in Madagascar or to go on Safari in Kenya. I considered what it might be like to live in the UK, what the French would think of my french, and how fun it would be to learn to surf in Australia. I marveled at how condensed Europe seemed in comparison to the vastness of Canada and wondered why the US bothered with splitting themselves into so many states. Choosing where to place my little yellow stickers taught me about the world.

Since then, I've always had an affinity for putting up a map of the world wherever I live. It's comforting because it reminds where I am, where I've been, and where I want to go. To me, maps serve more than their designed function; they are metaphors for life. A map of the world presents all the pieces of the puzzle, it tells me 'Justin, this is all available. All of it'. It asks me 'Justin, where do you want to go? Why? How will you get there? What do you need?'. Maps force me to visualise myself in new, exciting and scary situations. And as I live my life, in new places, experiencing new things, and meeting new and wonderful people, a map chronicles these friendships and experiences. And so Aberdeen becomes so much more than a yellow sticker. It's a PhD, it's Leigh, it's Ollie, it's Mike and Sarah, it's Stephan, it's Niina, it's Dave and Suzanne and Robbie and Karen, Bernadette and Eric, it's Falko and Jill and Marie and Derek, it's the beach, it's green, it's the feeling of accomplishment, of friendship and love. It's all those things and more, and it's why I'll continue to surround myself with maps.

Haircut

I love getting my haircut. LOVE. IT. I always forget that I love getting my haircut until I arrive for my next appointment. I think the reason I forget that I love it is that I hate talking on the phone. HATE. IT. (to the extent that it is actually my new year's resolution for 2010 to make all the phone calls at home). And because going to get a haircut involves phoning, there's this weird anxiety attached to it. Strange.

Self-analysis aside, I got my haircut today. It was awesome. The whole process. "Can I take your coat Justin?" Sure! "Would you like a coffee Justin?" Would I?! Then the hairwashing, which involves a shampoo. Then a rinse. Then ANOTHER shampoo. Then rinse. Then conditioner. Ah-mazing. I literally take 1.23 minutes washing my hair everyday. Having someone else put a ridiculous amount of time into what amounts to a scalp massage is nothing short of bliss. Then the combing of my hair, slicked back - like I'm some badass gangsta whose out ta get ya.

The sitting in the chair, and the familiar "what can I do for your today Justin?" At this point, I feel there's an unspoken understanding between the hairdresser and I: "look at the state of me. clearly, I should have come in about a month ago, and how could I show my face in public, please help." I'm not a fancy guy. I wash my hair, dry it, then go. My two decision rules for getting a haircut are a) Leigh asks if I'm growing my mullet out, or b) I can't see because my hair is in front of my eyes. Because of my simple haircare routine, I feel slightly bad for my answer to 'what can I do for you today Justin'. I feel like they want me to say something challenging and complex and interesting. Something that's versatile, that I can wear 8 different ways, with 4 different molds, putties, waxes and mortar. Rather, I deliver the standard line: "I like it long. I want this look, only so I don't have a mullet/so I can see (depending on decision rule)." Sorry hairdresser, I'm no [insert hip dude's name], just a regular guy.

And then there's the haircut chat. It's awesome. It starts with the usual boring weather chat, but as soon as I work in that I'm doing a PhD in Psychology... Floodgates = open. I love hearing about people's lives - their dreams, their goals, what they do. awesome. And hairdressers are typically very chatty to begin with and are happy to discuss the ins and outs of their lives. Fascinating.

This graph is a good representation of the on-going experience of evaluating the progress of my haircut: http://www.thedoghousediaries.com/comics/uncategorized/2009-10-16-2c33d5a.png

Ok, maybe not everytime, but often. But I accept it. It's part of the fun. My mundane haircut instructions usually mean that hairdressers add their bit of flair and creativity at the end. I'm happy to oblige. I've gotten a head massage and good life story - it's the least I can do.