As Free As The Hair Grows

I have a long-standing contempt for people who refuse to cut their hair out of fear.

What's the big deal, anyway?

It is only hair.

That is my latest motto: it is only hair. Which is really helping me work through my silly resentment at having hair that doesn't "match" me.

A haircut (and I mean a hairCUT, not a trim, not getting two more highlights, not adding a feather) can be so liberating!

It can feel like the beginning of a whole new life.

A cleansing, even.

In my experience, women who are not afraid to make length-altering changes to their hair are women I enjoy. Women unafraid of the future. Confident women.

Which is why, when I begin to get attached to my own hair; to take comfort in its boringness; to feel frantic at the thought of changing it,

I know it is time to hack it off.

Luckily I had this revelation mid-trim, and so told my beautician, "You know what? Just cut it off!"

And she did. Quickly. Before I could change my mind.

And I am determined to love it not because it makes me more attractive (because, sadly, it does not), but because I made the decision and I'm sticking to it.

There was something in the deciding that made me newly unconcerned about whether or not I look like a grandma. Or an actress from Flash Dance.

I like to imagine that along with my split ends go my bad attitudes and pessimisms of the last two years. All the resentments I have pent up since last I had my hair cut: magically erased! (I tell myself)

If nothing else, it feels wonderful.

Every time I wash it, I can almost hear it singing the Hallelujah Chorus.

When I dry it, it sighs in contentment.

My curls affectionately embrace one another, and are behaving better than they have in months.

And when I look in the mirror, I have to giggle that my hair looks as though it has been set free.

Observe the before and afters:

Does my new-found hair apathy mean that I will stop complaining about my hair?

Never.

You've got to fill those conversational lulls somehow.