This is really—I mean really—nothing to base even a paragraph on, let alone an entire post. But you know I’m all about taking liberties with just about anything I happen to notice. It’s just that Avery and I were talking about her still-newish chin-length bob last night. It’s been a couple of weeks since she got the requisite ten inches cut off. We went in for a trim with the idea of doing more in the back of her mind. A classmate has been dealing with cancer, so several of the boys have shaved their heads to show support; she wanted to do something small as well. But she has always loved her long hair, just loved it. Although her hair has three opposing cowlicks, so it’s always been a challenge for her, she has loved the versatility of lengthy locks. I’ve seen some sheen in her eyes as we’ve talked about her hair on and off over the past several days, and she cried when she first got it done. It’s been a little weird for her to get used to and she’s definitely growing it out. But I think it’s so good. A small sacrifice. I pointed out that as hard as it is to face another day without her tresses, think how her friend must feel going to school with first her bob, then thinning hair and then no hair. It hardly compares, but I think it’s a valuable lesson. Not only because it heightens our awareness of how others may feel, but I think it’s important to learn to ignore what we can’t change and move on. I like taking a challenge and using creativity to make the best of it. And I love seeing her try out different styles: curly, beach waves, up in a tiny tight pony, half up, straight and sleek, in a hat, it’s all so cute and she’s making the most of her new look, while still looking to the future of longer locks, she’s embracing the moment and enjoying where she is. A good lesson for me.
I know it’s hard to believe since I have and have mostly always had short hair, but I love long hair on girls and women. I think women should keep their hair long for as long as possible. It’s just so feminine and romantic and beautiful and versatile. And maybe old-fashioned. I can only surmise that my fanciful fascination for long hair stems from a life of coveting from behind boy haircuts. I never, ever had long hair as a child. Even as a little girl. It was always short and straight. Practical, easy, ugly. Not even a cute cut like lots of my friends these days have, just plain. So I vowed early on (it wasn’t even a thought really, it was just an automatic) that I’d never, ever make my girls cut their hair. I would leave their hair completely up to them. And it’s been just great, I’ve loved seeing them grow up making their hair do all sorts of flips and curls and up-dos and buns. So carefree, relaxed, youthful, I just love it!
And I’ve wanted that for myself. I love the dark, straight tresses of several of my friends. Beautiful heads of hair. I tried it in high school. But I had those bangs that have for whatever reason have made a come-back. The kind that went back to the middle of our heads. Yikes. It was a mess. Straight or curly, it was a nightmare all the way around. But I kept thinking that if it just grew long enough it would eventually turn out like the other girls. Add it to the long list of ways I’ve been wrong in my life. I can’t tell you how liberating it was—and so me!— to finally get it cut into a reasonably short bob the last month of my senior year. Not perfect by any stretch, but more me than long hair on me was. I felt light and free, I could tell I was on to something.
So over the years that’s basically where it’s stayed. Most people, I’ve noticed, have a style that suits them even if they change it up a bit, but they basically play pretty close to home. My mom, for instance, asks me every other trip if I like her new hairstyle. I’m dumbfounded because I can’t ever really see a difference. The only main difference I noticed was when it went from black to gray several years back. I can’t see anything new year to year, it’s the same basic wedge cut I’ve always known and loved her in. I have friends who are also like that, there hair never really changes much. That’s me and my brown bob: curled under a bit with fluffy bangs back in the 90s, on and off with bangs through the years, an occasional long or short burst, to now just a basic sleek, boring a-line bob. Unobtrusive, under the radar, right where I like to live. When I die and see myself again in heaven I plan to live out my days there with my classic bob.
I did cut it pretty short when we lived in Illinois and I have to say I loved it. Cuts were pricey and frequent, but I did love it. Tousled, kind of soft spiky, a bit messy. But I missed the feel of smooth tresses and the wind blowing in my hair. My short cut required more “product,” and you all know I’m not really into a lot of extras. Of anything. I’m not sure how long I would’ve kept it short, but we moved here and I couldn’t find anyone who could duplicate the cut I loved. In fact, I had some nasty experiences and hate the pictures of Avery’s birth because of such a bad hair cut the day before. We’ve all had them. Usually they end up in pictures for some reason. So I grew it out, sad to see the short hair I loved in pictures fading into lengthier bits. But happy to be able to run my fingers through my hair again.
And then as I turned 30 I aspired to try long hair just one more time to see what would happen. Because I was feeling my age and noted that if I was ever going to have long hair again in my life this was my last chance. Dumb. Dumber than before. Because I should’ve known that a few years’ time wouldn’t make things any better. Only worse because now my hair was like that old-lady texture: wiry, with an occasional gray, certainly not black or luscious and smooth. I look like a witch with long hair. I’m not being mean. Just saying it like it is. I’m ok with that. Because I know now that I will never, ever grow my hair out again.
One style I totally love (besides the long straight look) is long layers that flip all sorts of ways ending at the shoulder—especially if they have that long thick hair that glistens like Vidal Sassoon commercials from maybe the 90s. I have seen it several times and just long to look good in it. Alas, I’ve tried it. It just looks so much better on them. And so that is why my hair looks the same in every other picture since the 90s—shortish, darkish bob-ish. I don’t know that it’s my best. I just know that everything else I’ve tried is worse. So we’re here by default. And because I just can’t be bothered with it.
I was thinking about the long and short of things just this past week. Because I normally live with short, clear nails. Easy to type with, out of the way, low-maintenance, just unobtrusive. But I’ve been busy and haven’t gotten around to dealing with regular stuff like that (company and all), so I just let them go. And as they grew I was transported back in time to sixth grade when my mom and I would paint our nails late at night at the kitchen table. Talons. Oval-like, like a lot of women in those days. But I remember the distress of one breaking. Then two. What was the tipping point when you’d just have to call it and cut them all? I never could decide if it was two or three. But now that I’m older and have a less stressful life (is that it?), they just grew and grew. Effortlessly. They were perfectly shaped for over a week. I put an opaque coat of polish on and they were good to go. For days. I was enamored by how easily and symmetrically they grew. But they were sort of a pain. When I’d come to type. Or get cream out of my jar. I’d constantly be scrubbing them. So I finally just did it, they’re back to short and sensible. Easy and me. It’s just nice to be back to what I know and love. Maybe it’s like my hair, not the best look, not the latest style, no sort of statement whatsoever, just kind of low-maintenance there. But I’m happy. Really fine with things. I love being back in business, just able to go about my life unencumbered by dumb things like hair and nails. This is so where I live.
I just figure by this age I know myself. I’m not that interested in fashion or what the latest styles are. Not really. I just know what I like, what works for me and my lifestyle, and I’m good with it. Not that I’m impressed by that, it’s just that I’m a bit lazy and uncomfortable mixing things up (what with the number of bad experiences I’ve had and all). Avery and most of my friends are so great at this though. They’re constantly changing hair and nail colors—a lot of times their polish matches their outfits!! (Outfit?? I’m a jeans and t-shirt person, maybe for church I’ll put something that matches—and I’m talking clothes, not nail polish—but not for regular life.) I love the creativity they have, their courage and zeal for shopping and looking nice. I admire their energy and confidence. I have one friend who lets her hairdresser do whatever she wants with her hair, she figures it’s just hair, it will grow back. I love her philosophy and playfulness. And I love it when my sister Cheri walks down our airport stairs because she’s always sporting a new hairstyle. Sometimes curly and long, sometimes short and sleek, occasionally wavy, once bald, and once short tight gray curls. Hair and nails are just something that most girls like to play around with, and I love watching the show. As long as I don’t have to be a contestant.
So I guess the lesson for me this week is to know thyself. Be true to you. If you’re a playful kind of person and like the change, have fun with it. Switch up your hair, paint your nails funky colors, wear trendy clothes. If you’re happy where you are, leave things alone. Some people embrace the changing trends and get excited about mixing things up. For some people, that’s just stressful. (For others, we just know eventually they’ll see that baggy neon looks good on no one and that fluffy bangs will always and forever be a mistake.) Even more than knowing ourselves and what we’re comfortable with, I’m learning to embrace changes that we didn’t anticipate or have control over or that maybe we instigated but are regretful about later. Like Avery’s hair cut. There’s not a thing in the world she can do to naturally have ten inches by morning. Might as well have fun with it and learn some things about styling and accessories in the meantime. And plenty of young men go gray or bald before they think they’re ready. I love it when they shave their heads and embrace it rather than wrapping their lone strand around and around the top like a turban. Cheri didn’t wish for baldness or short, gray grandma curls in her 30s but she used the experience to showcase who she was inside. And she has the most beautiful eyes and smile in the world. That we could see better than ever before.
I just think it’s been a good week for Avery to see herself in a different frame, to see she can still be herself while she’s growing out her hair. I’m even grateful for her tears. Because I know it was a sacrifice for her. I’m thankful she can empathize in even such a tiny way what someone else is struggling with. Nails and tresses grow (unless you’re a bald man, but then it just looks distinguished). Clothes come in and out of style. And back again. What always matters is that you know yourself, that you are true to who you are. Whatever that looks like.
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