Wednesday, November 14, 2007

so, I cut my hair

Even in my youth, I was not generally impulsive. It took a great deal of effort to break outside my routine and try something different- whether it was making new friends, or trying a new hobby, or defying someone else's wishes for what I ought to be. I would turn a problem over and over and over in my mind, and usually choose the most pragmatic (read: boring, staid, safe) course.

Case in point- senior year, I got early acceptance to the only two colleges I really wanted to go to, the only two to which I applied. One was a state school in the western part of the state- the tuition was very reasonable, the location was gorgeous, the humanities program was great... but I didn't know anyone there, and had no parental support where room/board/tuition was concerned and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get a job and cover expenses.

The other school was a private college in Georgia, where I already had friends, the Education and Classics programs were both excellent (I wanted to either be an English teacher or a Latin teacher), and the location, while next door to the ghetto, was also spectacularly stunning. And I had a partial scholarship for 10k a year- but tuition was 20k. See above re: expenses.

So instead of taking the leap to go somewhere exciting, somewhere I truly wanted to be, and deciding that money would just work itself out, I applied late to NCSU, stayed in Raleigh, and the rest is history. Thinking back, if I had just taken the leap, either way, who knows where I would have turned up? Not that I have regrets, it's can be too cautious, I think.

Anyway, this major digression is to say: I'm not a terribly impulsive person. Love and booze are pretty much the only battering rams that get my defenses down, and even then, it takes copious amounts. Other decisions, I agonize over, and mull, and overthink.

I've wanted to change my hair for a while now...but there was always something. First it was this guy I was dating, who was pretty vocal about preferring long hair. Then, we ended up getting married, and there was the wedding- you can't chop your hair off right before your wedding! And then there was the inertia of having this particular style, that everyone seems to like, especially the guy you married, and you don't really want to upset that apple cart, right?

Except I did. I love short hair. I've had it for large portions of my life, so I knew what to expect (easy showers, less shedding, and a much easier time covering my grey!) And frankly, I'm not the kind of gal that enjoys getting up and messing with a 'do. It was more of a wash, detangle, put in a bun situation for me. And with two tons of coarse, thick, frizzy hair, if you don't love long hair personally, the resentment builds up fast.

The time was right for a change. And a couple of days ago, the itch became too intense not to scratch. It's just hair. It's not me, it's not who I am, right? It's just hair. What's the harm in getting rid of it?

Before I could think myself out of it, I warned my spouse and picked up a new set of scissors.

And before I veer out further into tangent territory, here's how it went down:

So, I Cut My Hair

The funny thing is- it's *not* just hair. The reactions hair provokes are amazing, and I'm not immune myself. I feel so much better, so free, so liberated, so much more myself, than I did under all that hair, no matter how pretty other people thought it was. I me again. Like I've taken control of this situation, now I can take control of all those other things that have been bothering me for so long...

But that's crazy- it's just hair! Right? Now, I'm not so sure.


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