Barrett the Barber, or the Value of Clearing Stuff Out

Confusion can be funny. And even more so when it amplifies an insight.

At a recent mindfulness teacher training in York, England, my colleague Gillian and I were sharing in pairs after having just come out of 12 hours of silence. Gill’s a lovely woman, a bright-eyed Mom with another boy-to-be kicking in her belly. Especially because she’s got a delightful British accent, I enjoyed hearing how she appreciated the silence, that it felt natural and healing for her.

I, too, had enjoyed the quiet. The silence had reminded me how few words we actually need, that open spaces without sound bring a greater appreciation and wisdom when I do choose to use words. In that way, I explained, it reminded me of my efforts back home to clear out more of my belongings. I’ve already sloughed off a bunch with my move two years ago, but I could use even more trimming. I was excited to get back home to keep the momentum going—ultimately, I realized, I could do with even less stuff.

“I get it,” Gill chimed in. “It’s like Barrett the Barber.”

“Like who?” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, Barrett the Barber. He’s only got, like, two suits. He just needs one black and one blue and he can go anywhere.”

Huh, I wondered. Barrett the Barber. Despite the plainness of Gill’s matter-0f-fact tone, this was a name I’d never encountered. Was he a Sherlock Holmes kind of character, a sharp sleuth that all British kids would know about? Or a Mister Bean-ish cartoon, an easy breeze of comic relief? Did he fashion himself a Sweeney Todd, a trimmer with a dangerously shady side business? Or had I missed another great Monty Python character back in the day? Whoever this hairstylist was, I knew I must have communicated my consternation clearly. Gill looked downright gobsmacked herself.

“Are you serious?” she asked. “You don’t know who I’m talking about?”

“Really, I’ve never heard of Barrett the Barber,” I replied.

“You don’t know your president?”

“My presid–? OHHHH!!!,” it dawned on me, cutting through the clouds. Barack O-bama! I broke out laughing and when I shared why, Gill did too. In fact, we couldn’t stop giggling for the rest of that little session. Her British accent—pronouncing our forty-fourth president’s first name like an army barrack—had thrown me off-trail and my brain had processed the rest as best it could. On both sides, we acknowledged, we’d had good reason to wallow in such confusion.[1]

Once we wiped away our tears and picked ourselves up off the floor, I realized we could all make use of this accidental character. It’s been a while since I’ve needed a haircut, but I can remember bygone days of feeling too shaggy and enjoying the freedom of a fresh trim. As with a new ‘do, shedding unneeded belongings lets us see the world with clear eyes. We gain energy and move with streamlined ease. This elusive hairstylist, like a silent Santa Claus, could become a magical bringer of reboots, a piper of possibility.

So, from our unwitting communicative gaffe, Gillian and I would like to introduce you to our new-found friend. Choose some silence. Trim out the old. Make space for the new. Get ready, people: Barrett the Barber is coming to town.

[1] When I recounted our communicative mishap with the rest of our group, they got a good chuckle as well. And Barrett became a running joke for us all.