A Year of Kaddish

My barber, who I can’t quit, try as I have for more than a year, called me last week: “Lenny,” he cried into his voice message, like a subdued Stanley Kowalski calling for Stella. “How the hell are you?”

It’s been five months since I tried to tell him I had made a decision: I was going elsewhere for my haircuts. It was between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, that time on the Jewish calendar of teshuvah, of committing to examining your life and making change, or literally, of returning – returning to what? To God? To what really matters? To a way of being that you have fallen short of becoming?

Admittedly, leaving your barber, albeit the guy who has cut my hair for 20-plus years, may look like small step toward change. But, I reasoned, you need to start somewhere. And if not now, when? I had actually thought of much more significant change I wanted to commit to. I had even brought a big-change goal to a one-day workshop called “How To Say No By Saying Yes to What Matters Most,” led by my friend, Guthrie Sayen, a life coach.

But when I told the group my big-change idea, Guthrie smiled and then said: “For the purposes of this workshop, can you think of something a little more manageable?” So I thought while the others announced what they wanted to say “No” to. When my turn came up, I said: “I’ve been trying to leave my barber for several years. But it’s hard. I’ve been seeing him for years.”

We worked on what Guthrie called the Positive “No” Model, which included staying connected to what nourishes and anchors one, standing up for one’s self and connecting to the world. Within a week of the workshop, we were supposed to actually speak our Positive No.

I walked into Ralph’s barbershop, actually a hair salon. I didn’t do a very good job of explaining that I didn’t like the way he cut my hair anymore. It had been a couple months since my mother had died, and I used that as an excuse to explain why I hadn’t been coming around regularly anymore.

My God, I thought. Has it come to this? Using my mother’s death to try to leave my barber? He looked at my hair, annoyed at whomever the barber was who had last cut my hair. “They just chopped it in the back,” he exclaimed. “It’s going to be months before it grows back.”

I shrugged and gave a look that said, “I know. What are you going to do?” I felt the discomfort of saying, “Look, Ralph. I’ve decided to get my haircuts elsewhere. It’s nothing personal.” And instead I took the easy way out: “Well, I’ll see you around.” And that was the last time I saw him.

Then last week, I heard his voice message. Maybe, I’ll give him a call, I thought. I looked in the mirror at the back of my head. Maybe he was right. Maybe it should be a little longer in the back.

This small episode in my life came to me as I thought about my commitment to blogging about a year of saying kaddish. Like Ralph, you, my loyal readers, my be wondering, how the hell am I? Or where have I been. Am I still saying kaddish? Yes. And what’s been going on over the last month? Well, Ill tell you. Lots to tell, in fact. Lots to catch up on.

More to follow. Stay tuned. I promise, I’ll be back.