A Hair Story: The Devil Made Me Do It

Photo by: Alex L. (This is me shortly after my haircut!)                       

As I've alluded to in previous posts, beginning the life of a college freshman isn't easy. Unfortunately, we tend to take out the stress of this process on those we love, and although I believe my hair has forgiven my past transgressions, this was a rocky time in our relationship. 

Before I begin, there are two things you must understand: 

1. I love my hair. It's also been a lifelong dream of mine to have long, long hair.

2. My college career began during one of the hottest weeks of the summer. It was uncharacteristically hot and humid, and much of our orientation activities were outdoors. 

If you are cringing now, then I know you are catching my drift- outdoors, humidity, stress, hair, oh my. 

At this time, my hair had finally grown into a long length that I was content with. Braids, buns, twists, and tucks roamed freely and all was well in the hairosphere. That is, until orientation week. 

As I've written in at least one previous post, orientation week was not my cup of tea. It insisted that I leave the comfort of my newly decorated dorm, talk to strangers, and participate in get-to-know-you activities. The nerve of these establishments. 

Long story short, all the mandatory events that made up our busy schedule meant that I didn't have much time to spend on my hair, and as a result, I didn't like how it looked. So what do you do? Find the nearest hair salon and do something crazy. 

I walked into the establishment with a sign overhead reading "Hair Adventure". Looking back, it seemed very appropriate. After a once-in-a-lifetime head massage (Seriously, it was that good.) and a good long talk with the masseuse about cake and how to best attract the attention of the boy she was crushing on, I was in the hot seat. The conversation with the hairdresser went something like this:

"Okay, what do you want?"
"I want a bob."
"A bob?"
"Yes, a bob. Cut it all off."
"Okay, so you want it like this?" She traced a line with her fingers, angling them from just below the chin, up the jaw line, to rest at the base of the skull parallel to her ear lobes. 
"No, a bob. I want it to be even length all the way around." I too traced a line from mid-neck to chin.
"Sweetie, I know bob. That's not bob." 
"No, you're describing an inverted bob. I want an even one that ends at my chin." We went back and forth on the definition of a bob for a time before I finally said, "Fine. No bob. Just cut it evenly at my chin." That seemed to pacify my equally strong-willed hairdresser, and she went to work. 

To me, hairdressers are like surgeons. Together you discuss the desired outcome of the procedure, and then they tell you what the procedure will consist of . For these sensitive professions, a certain amount of bedside manner is expected in order for the patient to be calm, trusting, and cooperative. This key ingredient was lacking in my story. 

I began to get teary as I watched her gather up my long hair into a loose ponytail. She noticed and asked if I was nervous. I nodded, noting in the mirror just how pathetic I looked. She smiled wickedly, flipped the ponytail over my head so it dangled in front of my face. Then, at eye-level, the scissors came into view, cutting off my treasured locks as she sang, "Ooooh, bye-bye haaair!" I spent the rest of the cut gathering up the remains of my former life in my lap and braiding it as if it were still securely attached to my head.

I'll spare you the remaining details. I've spent much of the time between now and then regretting the decision to chop my hair off, and concentrated on 1) growing it back and 2) figuring out what had caused me to (in the span of 48 hours) abandon my dream of long hair and sabotage my efforts. 

The conclusion I have come to is this: control. I felt alone, undesirable, and completely out of control. So if my silly story can mean something to you, it would be this: Control is not always a guarantee, but choice is. You may not be in control of a situation, but you choose how you respond to it. You can choose how to react to a new environment. You can choose positive thinking habits. And you don't need to take it out on your hair. The choice is yours.

Rory