its monotony bred happiness
“…life in Paradise was not like following a straight line to the unknown; it was not an adventure. It moved in a circle among known objects. Its monotony bred happiness, not boredom.”
-the unbearable lightness of being
“I can’t ever imagine living in Los Angeles and wanting to move back to Oklahoma,” she said as she drove the level-three clippers across my scalp, curls slowly plummeting to my lap.
It wasn’t as if I told her that I wanted to move back home. I just didn’t mind the idea of it- that’s all I said. With every glide of the razor against my head, I felt more and more betrayed by myself. Perhaps I was angry for even saying anything of significance to my hairdresser, a stranger at that, but I probably was frustrated because I couldn’t possibly finish my thought with sincereity.
“My husband and I are moving away once we graduate… I can’t wait to get out of here.”
I remember feeling that same, desperate impetus to leave my hometown. After graduating from highschool and coming to terms with my sexuality, I resigned the idea of ever being content in the Midwest. I felt empowered at that point to craft my own fate. Working ardently throughout my studies, I gained the test scores and the grades necessary to land a spot at the University of Pennsylvania, in Philadelphia. I figured in a larger city, I would find more caterings to my tastes (in both culture, music, and, of course, men.)
I suddenly thought of the people my mother refers to, affectionately, as “Fair People.” Fair People are the types that keep large, themed chain-restaurants in business (the sort of restaurants with Caribbean themes where the servers acclimate themselves as tour guides, and where nothing on the menu is without a ‘clever’ isle-inspired name.) Fair People loiter around Christian bookstores, while not at the Fair of course, and send mass right-wing conspiracy-theorist emails to everyone on their yahoo! mailing lists. The fashion of Fair People consists primarily of bargain clothing from, you guessed it, island-themed chain stores. I would say that, as a group, they are overwhelming surfer-chic, deranged and sidetracked from their exodus to the Beach.
I don’t know if I could coexist with Fair People.
Before my cut, I watched as the stylist trimmed the hair of the person before me. “People are making decisions for our future, their decisions for myfuture,” she said emphatically, as if I weren’t sitting in the waiting area. I felt bad for the man under the scissors, subject to the uneducated political rambling of the stylist. He seemed to concur with her cacophonous ideas, and seemed genuinely pleased by his completed trim. On his way out, he put a large tip in the jar. “You didn’t have to do that… I love you, Dad,” she said as she waved goodbye.
She waited for me to give her a reason as to why I would ever return to this god-forbidden state. I didn’t know whether to explain to her that life in the city isn’t all its cracked up to be, or to just stare dumbfounded at the mirror before me, as if I were clinically insane. I then worried that perhaps I was completely jaded, and that my disillusionment would tarnish her aspiration of becoming a stylist to the stars or a rockstar or something. I imagined myself saying something like, “when you’re working late shifts at the Hardrock Cafe in the Valley, and your boyfriend just lost his third job as a valet at the W Hotel, then we’ll talk.” Its awful, I know, but its all that I imagined for her.
But the thought of being complacent with the idea of moving back home, even after I finish architecture school, is terrifying. I always worried that some demon inside of me would trap myself, against my better judgement, into returning. But the more and more time I spend in cosmopolitan cities, whether it be New York, Philly, or Los Angeles, the less and less impressed I am by blatino tranny karoke bars that double as korean barbeque joints. I’ve come to the timely realization that every man comes to at some point: it doesn’t matter where you live, what matters is the people in your life.
There are certainly advantages to living in a large city. Your interests couldn’t possibly be marginalized, there’s something for everyone, non-stop excitement, thrills, and martini drinking alongside Drew Barrymore. I’ve actually come to love my neighborhood in LA, despite the infectuous transience oozing from around every corner. But amongst soaring rents, wretched traffic, and an absence of parking accomodations, I’m having trouble with the idea that its completely worth it all. And obnoxious Hollywood trollops in pink Manolos aren’t looking any more attractive than Fair People, these days. There’s something character building in Oklahoma, in an absence of thrills and hype. There are idiosyncrasies I could only find here, wonderful genuine people, and a family that inspires me endlessly.
“How does it look?” asks the stylist, as she hands me my glasses. My vision comes into focus, and revealed is the haircut I’ve gotten hundreds of times before. Its a haircut I’ve had in New York, and its a haircut I’ve had in LA.
“It looks fine,” I said as I hopped from the chair. As I walked outside, I felt a strange synergy bubbling below the surface. It wasn’t exactly inspiration, and it wasn’t excitement. What I felt was happiness, a happiness completely unaware of time and place. A happiness that I could have felt anywhere, and a happiness that I can carry anywhere. I felt missionless, unhindered, and, at that bizarre place, outside of the salon, I felt free.