Attachment and Razors

Attachment and Razors July 6, 2016

Attachment is a funny thing.

It seems natural that we should become emotionally attached to other human beings. We can see a competitive evolutionary advantage there; species where individuals are closely aligned and with others can work together for the benefit of the pack or tribe or flock. Altruism can result in one’s genes being passed along though collateral lines, and that’s all that biological natural selection really cares about. And we humans are clearly able to extend that emotional involvement to members of other species, we can become very emotionally attached to dogs and cats and other “pet” animals. (It seems some other species can do this too. Koko the gorilla has a famous affection for cats.)

But we can also become attached to inanimate objects. We usually call it “sentimental value.”

A few years ago I had to leave my broken Ovation guitar at the shop. The neck had come loose from the body and the luthier wasn’t sure if it could be repaired — he even said, “Have you thought about a new guitar?” And in fact this one was originally meant as the beater guitar, the idea being that I wouldn’t have to take my old Gibson, the 60s-vintage guitar my uncle gave me, into situations where it might get banged up. But this Ovation was the guitar that I took to Japan in 2007. It’s been with me to a bunch of Starwoods and Free Spirit Gatherings and dozens of dive bar gigs, including when I played on 9/11.

When I left that guitar at the shop I felt very much like I have when I’ve had to leave a sick dog at the vet. “Please do all you can, doc, this is a special one and much loved.”

And maybe that’s ridiculous, a misfiring of a brain circuit meant to keep a troop of primates together, but it’s how things are.

Which takes me to my broken razor.

broken_razor-fbI’ve had the same razor for over twenty years. The razor handle, I mean; I put a new blade cartridge in every so often since I don’t like tearing my face up with dull blades. I couldn’t resist its Burma Share branding when I came across it at a warehouse overstock store (a BJs Warehouse, I think) — I’ve been fascinated with that old shave cream brand’s poetic marketing for a long time. What poet could fail to fall in love with a company that hit on the idea of using several signs along the road, each with one line of a versified advertisement such as:

His tenor voice
She thought divine
Till whiskers
Scratched
Sweet Adeline

BURMA SHAVE

The American Safety Razor company owned the trademark for a while in the 1990s and 2000s, and put out these brass-handled safety razors. Completely unrelated to the old Burma Shave product, really, but even yours skeptically sometimes falls for branding.

So this razor has been up against my face (and occasionally other body parts) for over two decades. It’s helped me get ready for dates and job interviews. But it finally got dropped one too many times and broke. And as I contemplate replacing it, I find that I’m actually sad about it, I’ve gotten attached to this stupid little bit of metal and plastic.

I’m reminded that a traditional Buddhist bhikkhu would own only a few things: a bowl (for begging and eatting), a set of robes, a sewing kit, a water filter, and a razor. So maybe this stupid little bit of metal and plastic has some deeper resonance.

Either way, observing the way in which we so easily become emotionally attached to simple inanimate objects is an important lesson.


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