Experimentation in Yogaland

I've always worried about changing a look. Will people like it? Will I become more or less attractive to the opposite sex? Am I going to look completely ridiculous?
What is it about the physical container of our body that we are so petrified to change? It feels like 'The Devil I know is better than the Devil I don't.' As though I've already learned how to navigate social, sexual and emotional situations looking exactly as I do and to change in anything other than a guaranteed winner of a way (say, to lose weight) would jeopardize those skills. You worry about the first person who sees you and laughs, the first little joke that makes you feel like less than the person you are. And why? Does my mustache or beard reflect who I am? Does it outline for the world my connection to the source? Is the proper ratio of exposed skin to hair on my face going to make me any less divine? any less of a perfect manifestation of Myles in this world? Certainly not. Why then?
I found myself on the cusp of mustache March and wanting to support my fellow facial hair growers in this month of transformation. But to shave the beard would expose my face to the world, and perhaps I would be fat face myles. A conversation with a friend yielded some preliminary ideas and with her help, we sculpted the look I will carry through this month, if not further.
"It makes your smile so much bigger"
"What a great look! You should keep it"
"I LOVE it!"
"When I look at your face, I can't help but smile"

What an amazing place yogaland is to experiment. Imagine, an entire community full of supporters, ready to have your back. Everyone here is in the process of trying something new. A new diet, a new daily practice, an new philosophy on life. What's a little facial hair among friends? At the end of the day, the truth is exactly what I told my roommate, what do you have to lose?

As mustache March comes upon us, and the season is starting to show signs of shifting, I want to look back and remember last night. Standing in the bathroom with Pete and Kate intently staring at my face and moving in here and there with a pair of clippers. In their faces only the looks of wanting to make me look as good, as cool (or as much like a Brooklyn hipster) as possible. True friendship exists in the space where you can make someone look and feel absolutely ridiculous, but instead you build them up.