when words fail me, which is often, I paint. When words work for me and are available on time, I am surprised.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Like a Lobotomy, but it feels better
In the orient, those who believe in the power of Feng Shui believe branches from trees should not grow too closely to their houses. They believe the branches catch negative energy, like a dream-catcher catches dreams, and hold it in the home's personal space.
This could be a bad thing no doubt.
As a young girl until the age of 12 I was known as the girl with the hair. I would have to pull it over to pee,to sit down, it took 100 pins to put it in a bun. Heavy, long, thick brown hair. It was beautiful-
Now my hair is graying,thinner than I ever remember, has numerous fading hair-colors and is a plain old ethnic-frizzy, uncontrollable mess.
Remember, I earn most of my living cutting and coloring hair- and my own hair is, er- was- pretty awful.
At some point in my 20's I became very disenchanted with long hair. My little boys had short hair and I liked the feeling of their velvety buzzcut heads when I rubbed them with my palm.
"Come here, let me rub your head" I would command.
(of course they acquiesced)
The freedom a buzz cut represented; the detachment from the ego, no more concern over the smelliness, the submission of style, "is my hair looking right?"- freedom.
I did it.
Somewhere in the early 90's after numerous style and coloring experiments and a brief stint of the classic beauty school pink hair phenomena-
I buzzed it slam off!
And it was good- for me.
It was a bit of a shock the first time I buzzed however because it was February on the central east coast- 20 some degrees outside.
Wow does hair keep your head warm, who knew?
I sported a buzz for several years. People assumed I was gay. I heard about it all the time.
Here and now it has been almost ten years since my last total buzz cut. My sweet Tate and others convinced me it was not my best look.
I had an ego to protect- theirs.
I let it grow, and grow, and grow.
I trimmed it, cut off 5 inches, more, less- and it kept growing.
Nine years of this long hair, hair I was quite unattached to meant numerous hair clips, pony tails, braids- a constant battle.
It felt like a dust magnet and needed constant shampooing.
It tickled my face and I pulled it back all of the time- making it thin and broken in the front.
I refused to color it, it was too long.
I felt as if I were in a cave, negative energy held in the tree branches outside.
Old memories carved from each thought have grown into each hair shaft and dangle around my shoulders- noisy- negative energies.
Two weeks ago- floating down the river in a kayak with Tate.
"So T-my buzz cut, remember what a great look that was for me?"
"It wasn't your best- nope."
"I liked it. I really want it back but I do not want you to not be attracted to me. You know, so you don't go looking for someone else".
"Are you kidding me? he asked- I'd love you if you were bald. Yada, yada, yada"- he sort of said.
(basically he said he does not ask me what to do with his hair,beard, or body for that matter and would not mandate my style parameters.he loves me unconditionally)
I decided to take baby steps to freedom and made an appointment with a young, talented, artistic stylist.
I told her my desire to buzz, the obsession and we talked about how weird people are to create such stigma and drama when a woman gets a buzz cut. Men do it all the time, what's the big deal?
"Oh my god, why did you do that!" is what I was used to hearing each buzz.
-STUPID- we agreed
In order to placate and diminish my fears of being unattractive to my mate, I decided to go short but leave a few inches here and there to add a little fem to the deal.
Ms. C. cut. . . and cut, and cut.
After a strong 30 minutes, maybe more I put my glasses on to see her work. It was short. I was a bit shocked. I almost cried.
I know it seems strange; its what I wanted, what I had before, but it had been a long time since my hair was this short.
I was scared- scared he wouldn't like it.
Avi- I'll call Avi.
"What are you doing" he asked.
"I just got all my hair cut off. I have to go shopping now."
"A new dress. Anyone with hair this short better be wearin a dress or people are going to think I am a boy."
I went to the drug store to pick up a prescription. The pharmacy worker was young, male, and for the most part- attractive.
Instead of asking for my meds. I blurt out-
"I just got all my hair cut off. Does it look stupid?"
"Noooo" he said sweetly.
I bought some sparkly girlie head bands. They made me feel a little better.
I called Tate and told him I got all my hair cut off and was afraid to come home.
"That's what hats are for" he said.
On the hour drive home
I notice I have a phantom pony tail. I feel around the bare back of my neck. I begin to feel giddy, free, from all that oppressive hair. I begin to love this forgotten feeling.
I don't care what people think of me- screw people who judge others by their appearance- freedom.
Ahh, it was all coming back to me.
I walked in the house where Tate sat at the table waiting for me to get home.
"It's adorable!" he said "best ever."