It had already been a long day when I decided to get a haircut.

I found my feet walking in the barber shop right next to work.

I was tired, hungry, and my hands hurt from my computer keys. 

Yet, despite my fatigue, I found a chair and sat down.

My whole body felt uneasy, so I instinctively fiddled with my hands. 

Social interactions scared me, but I felt comfort in my barber.

“Hey! It’s my favorite customer! Come take a seat!” said the barber. 

“What are we getting today, just your typical haircut?”

I nodded, sat down, and grabbed the seat’s arms with my hands. 

The barber flung a black cloth over me and immediately got to work.

He asked how I was, almost sensing I felt a little down.

“I’m all right,” I said, fidgeting with my car keys.  

My barber knew I was lying, but his easing into questions was key. 

All it took was a few gentle questions to get the answer for my barber.

“I haven’t really felt myself recently,” I said. “I’ve been kind of down.” 

My barber nodded and asked why that was while also using scissors for my haircut.

I told him that the days were long, I was lonely, and my life was consumed by work.

The barber, who was older, trimmed a piece of my hair between his hands. 

He said he once felt like this too but had changed his work to a job using his hands.

“You have to prioritize yourself sometimes,” he said. “Doing things for yourself is key.”

I was confused. How was I supposed to put myself first if I always had work?

“The reason you feel down is because you’re not living for yourself,” explained the barber. After he had quit, he found out he enjoyed giving haircuts.

I realized that I didn’t exactly enjoy my job, but that I had it down. 

As a journalist, I sat at my computer all day, typing what they told me to type down. 

Every hour, I was always typing, and by night time I could barely move my hands. 

Ironically, as a journalist, I got most of my social interactions when I got my haircut.

Or, sometimes, a stranger would wave when I walked to my car and took out my car keys. 

I was saying this aloud, but I didn’t realize I was speaking until I met eyes with the barber. He was nodding and listening while also doing his work. 

The barber asked if I’d ever considered doing something else for work.

I climbed in the depths of my memory and a distant dream I had as a kid fell down. 

“Taking time off for yourself could help you find that spark again,” said the barber. 

As I thought, I squeezed my eyes shut and grabbed my knees with my hands.

“I remember now. I wanted to be a pianist. I loved the sound and feeling of piano keys.” The barber smiled and said he wouldn’t mind hearing me play piano as he gave haircuts. 

A few months later, I quit my work and agreed to play piano for the barber.

The typing of computer keys now transitioned to those of a piano. I no longer felt down. 

My spark came back because of a haircut and a conversation with my barber.