I grew a beard for the first time in years recently. There are two main reasons for this.
The first, the one initially prompting me to do it was my role as The Vagrant in my film Coughing. I kind of recreated myself for the part. The Vagrant is and will be a kind of reoccurring, usually minor character in some of my films and stories, one I can easily play without it interfering too much with my other tasks on the set. One guy laughed when I told him about it, asking if that was how I saw myself. I looked puzzled at him. He didn't seem to get that it was only a part.
The other reason, and why I kept it a while after the filming was done is that I am currently fucking (and dating) a girl in her early twenties. Instead of attempting to hide the age difference, I decided to call attention to it. My beard has turned white where it used to be red, and even though the rest of it and my hair remain mostly black growing a beard clearly makes me look older.
I've always spat at social conventions and I have every intention of keep doing that.
My bright and aware, and beyond average intelligent and interesting young fucktoy is surprised I can set the table in a civilized way, with wine and cutlery and candles. She sees me pretty much as a savage. She likes savages. But she likes dinners with red wine and candles as well.
Dining can be such a great experience. I often enjoy that, like I enjoyed the filming, and don’t really worry about what might go wrong. Many people today, it seems lack the ability to enjoy the process and very experience of life, of life itself, and thereby miss the opportunity to savor its minor moments as well.
Big moments are enjoyed with a burning passion filling you up, but it’s just as important to make the small moments count, to approach them with enthusiasm and a devil-may-care attitude.
Those not busy being born are busy dying.