The Better Within the Worse

I’m beginning to see people for the last time this year.

I got my haircut this past weekend, and, as I was paying my stylist and exchanging final pleasantries, I realized it would be 2025 before I would see her again. “Have a good Thanksgiving!” I said with enthusiasm–then, in the middle of my realization, I awkwardly added “…and Merry Christmas… and a happy New Year!” I smiled because I was genuinely excited for the upcoming holidays, but it was also slightly unsettling, like riding in a car driven by someone who takes you where you want to go, but drives too fast, and takes the corners too sharply.

Objectively, I know I'll be sitting in her chair again six Saturdays from now—the same amount of time I always wait between haircuts—but a disproportionate sense of finality comes over me as I exit and the doorbell loudly declares to the busy hair sculptors inside that someone is leaving, a sound that is their constant companion on their busiest day of the week.

I realize as I write this that my heart was already heavy before I sat down in the barber chair. Several people I know have lost close family members within the past month, and I’ve held those people in my heart and in my prayers. I've offered their pain and grief to God, lifting up my neighbors to him, but I find myself needing to pray the same prayers of benevolent detachment over and again.