not that it’s ever been hidden, but it came out recently that, absolutely opposite of my partner, i don’t set goals, i’m not a ‘goal guy.’ i just don’t think in those terms, in large part because my anxieties keep me so firmly in the present. when i do stray from that focus, it’s either because i’m fretting about something specific coming up that i’m afraid i can’t handle, or obsessively poring over some episode in which i’m sure that i failed to perform adequately.

that being said, lately i’ve had a goal i’m working towards: i’ve been very determined to stop ripping hairs out of my nose. this is important, possibly, and i want to make the change.

when i worked as a writing tutor, i frequently worked with students who had my partner as their teacher, as she was a lecturer. she mostly taught freshman composition, classes that accounted for the majority of students coming to the writing center looking for help. this was before we shared a last name, but occasionally one of her students would figure out that we were a couple, and some of them were really pleased by this, thinking that getting help from me was some kind of magic ticket to a good grade. to be fair, we have very similar (and at the time almost identical) philosophies about writing, so it really was useful to talk to me, because my assistance really accurately reflected her concerns and goals for her students, which is not necessarily the case for all writing teachers (since writing is a subjective, idiosyncratic thing). it wasn’t a secret cheat code, but it was useful.

there was this one kid, in particular, who, once he discovered this connection, would only work with me. that’s not a weird thing, as students will often pick a specific tutor who they feel understands them and whose advice makes sense to them more than the others (i always think of it like how you need to find the right therapist for you, the one that you just click with), but i never got the sense that, for him, that’s what was going on. sometimes, i wasn’t even sure if he was listening to what i said, let alone appreciating it. his motivation was based entirely on the connection between me and his instructor. he seemed to believe that simply talking to me regularly, regardless of any effect it may or may not have on his writing, would ensure him of an A. my partner would tell me how he was constantly letting her know when and for how long we were meeting, as though this was her goal for the class, to provide me with conversational partners. we both tried to remind him, gently, that simply meeting with me (or my partner or anyone else) does not guarantee a good grade. it’s useful, and it is likely to improve the grade you end up with, because the meetings are intended to help develop the writing and make it stronger, but just the meeting itself doesn’t affect the grade. students often operate under this strange assumption (and i suppose, considering the confusing demands the class makes on them, it’s not surprising, since this is a concrete task that can be accomplished, as simple as checking a box), and sometimes they even insist that it should positively affect their grade, because it is evidence of effort. this dude assured us both that he wasn’t working that angle, and that he understood where his grade was coming from and how to use his meetings with  me, but he also really seemed like he thought the meetings were the whole point.

also, my dude had crazy, out of control nose hair. this was an eighteen year-old kid, and he had hair shooting out of his nose like an blind old man who was a shut-in and also had no access to grooming implements. i couldn’t believe he never heard it rustling when he breathed, it was so much hair. there was so much of it, i wondered if the hair made it hard to breathe through his nose, actually. it was just beyond my capacity to imagine that he somehow didn’t notice it. but, at the same time, it seemed insane to think that he did notice it and then chose not to do anything about it. it interfered with our tutoring sessions, actually, because i couldn’t stop staring at it and thinking about it and focus on the essay in front of us. i can still see it clearly in my mind. it haunts me.

the most consequential effect it had on me, though, was behavioral. after meeting this guy and seeing his nose hair, i became obsessed with my own. i began monitoring it closely, checking every few days to see if there was anything amiss, if any stray hairs had escaped past the threshold of my nostril, becoming visible (and therefore, objectionable). when i first did this, i was shocked to find that there were a few hairs that, while not super noticeable, had clearly spilled out and become visible if someone was unfortunate enough to have to look closely at my face. in addition, there were multiple hairs that, when i looked closely, seemed to be threatening to make a break for it. i plucked all of these hairs with a pair of tweezers, feeling very satisfied by the sharp pain that followed each removal. i also noticed several hairs coming out of my ears that received the same treatment. in fact, the ear hair was even more alarming, because while it was less noticeable (it was all so light as to be invisible), some of them were long, to the point where one was able to be removed by wrapping it around my index finger and pulling it out without use of the tweezers. gross.

i became hyper-vigilant about this. maybe it’s just me (i am a pretty hairy dude, unfortunately), but nose hair is relentless. it just keeps coming and coming, so i have to be constantly on top of it. (this is a fucking dumb thing to say, though; i mean, that’s what hair does, it grows.) i would groom my ear and nose hair at least twice a week, somehow always missing at least one or two hairs that, once i noticed them, were long enough that i couldn’t believe that i had missed them. (to be fair this is more common with the ear hair, which is much lighter and easy to miss.) i even became more aggressive; after accidentally ripping out a long, dark hair from deep inside my nose, i began moving further beyond the immediate entrance and just started clearing more and more space. my partner is used to me getting sneezing fits from pulling hair from my nose.

however, the more i moved towards tearing out all the hair in my nose, rather than just the ones that had noticeably exposed themselves outside my nose, the more i started to worry. should i be pulling out all this nose hair? isn’t it there for a purpose? doesn’t it like catch bacteria or something? am i hurting myself, leaving myself unprotected by tearing out my body’s natural defenses?

this is a really easy question to answer, in the age of the easily accessible internet, but i put off finding the answer, simply because i like pulling these hairs. the pain is immensely satisfying, and i enjoy it. i even like the sneezing fits, to a point. i suppose it’s a bit of an obsessive-compulsive thing, but i didn’t want to give up the practice.

but i finally did look, and my suspicion was true. we need nose hair, it performs a valuable function, unsightly as it may be. (i also found, looking at various search results, that it might be good for them to let kids eat boogers.) now my mission is to stop this practice i enjoy so much. i’ll still tear out hairs that i find that are growing out of my nose and becoming visible, but my main mode of upkeep now will be some tiny scissors to trim, instead of remove, my nose hair. it’s disappointing, but i’ll just focus all that energy on my ears. to be honest, in some ways the ears were always more satisfying, because there’s less hair period, not to mention less noticeably overgrown hair, so when i do find one and tear it out it’s more satisfying, because it’s more rare, and therefore more special.

this has been a story, and it’s been about real life. have you felt a connection, a shared humanity? i’ve done my part. this has been interesting.

here’s this, as well: one time, on a crowded bus in Chicago near the United Center, a teenage girl loudly asked me if she could braid the hair on my arm. she and her friends laughed, and i was so humiliated that i wanted to cry.