The work of cutting hair has never seem so consequential as it has during the pandemic, J.P. Devine says.

Even though J.P. Devine traded palm trees for birches long ago, he mulls over the close Hollywood connections he still has that lend insight into modern-day struggles of show business.

Eyes closed in thought, J.P. Devine ponders what it means to be alive and experiencing another colorful October.

Remembering an October day in 1961, J.P. Devine recalls a young couple starting their dreams that continue to this day.

Reincarnation, a heavy word loaded with meaning, is on J.P. Devine's mind as he tiptoes around death.

Recalling the moments after Bobby Kennedy was shot in 1968, J.P. Devine retells how he caught a glimpse of history in motion.

The lasting image of a man and woman holding hands as they stepped off into space as the World Trade Center collapsed around them is a reminder of what we've lost on 9/11 and our capacity be dreamers, J.P. Devine writes.

The deadly conclusion to the U.S. military campaign in Afghanistan stirs memories for J.P. Devine of the families waiting for loved ones to return home.

As JP watches the military leave Afghanistan, he realizes some things never change.

With the Tokyo Olympics over, J.P. Devine ponders our fascination with the spectacle of the games and memories from his glory days.