The loud airy buzz of the dryer stopped. "Ready?" the salon owner asked.
She spun me around to look in the mirror. I don't know what exactly I had been expecting to see, but with the first glance at my reflection, I was glad to own being me.
I love long weekends because that extra day transforms an ordinary weekend into a stage of opportunities. Things I've long wanted to do suddenly have ample time. All I have to do is step up and risk being seen. What narrative shall I live this time?
I'd been thinking about it for a while, though 1) no one but my household knew and 2) it was drastic enough that it would likely surprise just about every single person I know. (Granted that was part of the attraction. I'm turning into such a rebel.) So, on Thursday, I called and made my appointment. I was going to risk surprising people and being seen. I had chosen something I wanted, because I wanted it, and followed through without further hemming and hawing. (Growth! More on this in a later post on the Enneagram.) ((Update: I snuck a mini post on the Enneagram inside this one which is now up.))
I got my very first ever pixie haircut.
|A Christmas-time Before|
At the salon, I was fearless. I finally had no serious sentimental attatchement to my hair. It had always been some form of long since I was little until very recently. My last short cut was a wavy, poofy bob. And that was more than a year ago. This time, my once again longer than shoulder length hair was going away. I wasn't going to regret it, even if I didn't like the look very much. I was ready. Ready for a change, ready to surprise, ready to not have hair fall into my face and mouth, or get caught by purse straps and puullll. But I hoped and thought I could like the new look.
Perhaps my reasons are part defiance, a challenge and an acknowledgement to myself that who I was is not who I am now, another step in getting settled in my new life and my braver me. Part experiment. I wasn't sure if it would work with my face, but I wanted to find out. And part devil-may-care. After all, why not? It's just hair. It will grow. And I figured if I wanted it, I could rock it
At the heart of it, I wanted to be me and seen as me, not what anybody says or expects I need to be. Whether I'll keep it pixie short or not, I don't know. It might not even matter. What matters most is I went after something I wanted for myself. I followed through.
"Do you like it?" she asked as I stared into the mirror, mouth agape.
"I like it a lot!"
I felt fabulous.
Stay tuned for My Latest Fashion, Part Two. The wardrobe.