I tried to grow a beard. As you can see, it didn’t go well.

There were variations as it was ceremoniously clipped to the bathroom floor, the goatee, the moustache, the soul patch. They all looked equally silly, equally pubescent, and none made me look any older. It didn’t, for example, make the cashiers at the liquor stores believe I was of legal age without checking for ID, which even 10-months-old looks considerably different than now, even without the pseudo-beard. There’s been this beard (which is gone now), new Italian-made glasses (not seen here) with thick dark frames that outline my eyes like magic markers, lighter on the scales, longer hair. A surprise when I look in the mirror, like slowly reinventing myself, the before and after pictures that we trick ourselves into believing are different people. It’s strange how sometimes small things can make a big difference.

Then again, this probably doesn’t count . . .