A Work In Progress
WEEK 49 begins the Last Topic in my 52 Weeks of discovering life!
Here is a bit of fun to start things off….guessing the Last Topic:
What is started, but never finished?
Used, but never old?
Ignited with sparks, but invisible?
Kids exude it, while adults avoid it?
A clue, perhaps? Well, it is a characteristic, like all the other Finding 52 Topics. On its own, it is a powerhouse….and may I add, potentially a key to physical vitality and emotional longevity.
Still guessing what it could be?
Good! Then there is time for a story.
Most of you will not know this about me, but I am deathly afraid of getting my hair cut. Cleary not my Mum’s daughter, since she kept a meticulous schedule of salon appointments to achieve her gorgeous hair, which I remember wanting to replicate for myself.
Obviously, haircuts are somewhat necessary….particularly if a certain business or fashion appearance is required to maintain employment….but also to keep your hair healthy….or so says Google. Many hair truths are only some taps or a click away. Which is where I found this gem….
Tonsure is Greek for ‘to cut’. People suffering from tonsurephobia have an aversion to sharp, pointy, dangerous objects flying about their ears and skull, the onset of which typically occurs in childhood during a first experience under a pair of scary scissors….or shortly after watching the movie, Edward Scissorhands….
I can see how this fear could unfold for sweet, little eyes….especially when a plastic cloak is placed over the client, in the event they get nicked and spring a leak!
As far as I know, I had positive experiences in my childhood with haircuts, and I am not afraid of scissors, or any other hairstyling instrument.
I bravely sported a variety of styles growing up….short and long, curly and straight, and everything else in between.
So why does it bother me now? The article I read about tonsurephobia, said one of the ways to get over it as an adult….besides therapy….is to simply go get it done! HAH! Bite the bullet, princess. Put on your biggest pair of undergarments and get trimmed!
This is the advice!!
Alright, Challenge….I see you. So….I determine to take the matter into hand. Not literally into my hand….like the time I shaved my head bald….but finally deciding to do this thing….soon.
Very, very, soon….ish.
After several weeks of procrastination, an undeniable opportunity approached .
I was running late for a wedding reception. I thought, Sure would be nice to have someone else do my hair up….fast and pretty….maybe I could get a cut while I am at it. It sounded pretty reasonable, but with no plan and no appointment, my options were limited.
I often complain about the price I pay for haircuts I detest….which is unfortunately all of them….so I thought some more.
Why not just go to a walk-in salon? That way, when I end up wearing a hat and ponytail for 3 months after, it will have only cost me $16.99 + tax.
Yes! That is a good idea. Fear is taking the back seat today!
In an effort to build up my resolve, I stated aloud how I safely trusted the universe to guide me to the right stylist, who would magnificently craft a masterpiece upon my head. I drove to the strip mall 2 minutes from home, a giant grin upon my face, and roaring with confidence.
She had a melodious name, her hair was long and shiny, and a warm smile met me as I entered the salon. She was obviously the answer to my universal decree, so I happily sat down. I mused how the matte cape wrapped round would protect me….and without hesitation….I asked her to cut layers into my long mane.
She took good care with the lengths….a perfect first impression….so I slowly slipped into a coma-like state, while she continued to whittle her sheers along my split strands.
La-dah-dee-dah-dah….my comfort level was high. I began to day dream about completing my look. Outfit….make-up….shoes….and a fabulous hairdo.
Like this one:
Or this fab hair….
….I mean, really….this is GOOD hair!
The first hint of a slight problem with my hair-do vision, was a severe lack of hair products or tools at her station.
The second….the fact that walk-in salons do not include a wash….meaning my hair would contain yesterday’s natural oils and such, unless a product could fluff it right up….see first hint above….
A third clue….after she managed to hunt down a curling iron, the cord would not reach fully, so she turned my chair away from the mirror. Blind faith, baby. Nothing else to do, but wait for the universe to have my back.
The fourth, and final tip-off, was a burning, chemical smell from whatever bottled substance was being applied before she curled each section. I managed an investigative glance at this bottle, which she noticed me do, and volunteered it was a heat protector. Whew! Such a relief, because something smelled very hot!
When I was spun back around, the hairspray bottle set down with label toward me….ALL the evidence stacking up too late, in my terror filled brain.
Apparently, I described my vision to her like this:
I did not know whether to scream or cry. She asked to spray it some more so it would hold….I declined.
I paid….extra, in fact….for the styling. I tipped. Then thanked her….because I am Canadian….and ran.
On the drive home, I assured myself I could tease this out. Loosen it a bit to make it work….slap on some make-up….and all would be well. The fact that it felt crunchy when I reluctantly placed my hand out to survey the damage, started to dissuade me from the possibility of salvaging my hair.
Daughter was playing sweet notes on the piano when I walked through the door, and before she could utter a potentially snarky teenager comment, another declaration made its way to my lips….the universe must hate me!
I said it.
I was thinking it….and certainly feeling it. So I tossed it out there to be properly heard.
Daughter empathized, but confirmed there was no teasing this ‘do’ out. She suggested a pressurized wash wand, but luckily, a regular showerhead did the trick.
As I hurried out the door, I began to regret my last proclamation. It did sound very negative and not a message I would want seeping into my daughter’s psyche. Time for a perspective shift.
If I believe that it is possible to continually move toward a better version of myself….sometimes, even without knowing it….then I have to trust the same thing is happening for others. Newsflash, AJ….the universe is taking care of everyone else, too.
Maybe the hairstylist needed a chance to practice on a safe client.
Maybe the chat we had about parenting complex kids encouraged both of us, as we shared what love looks like in challenging relationships.
Maybe creating a new standard for my outward appearance is in order, to avoid drawing upon ‘the universe’ to make or break moments.
After all, I create my reality. I create how, the image staring back from the mirror, is defined. I create who I am willing to let myself continue to be….and who I am willing to blame when I do not get what I want. Sorry, universe.
Guessed the topic yet?
A life-art kind of creativity….an artist of moments….creativity of the soul.
A hairdo does not define me….it starts growing and changing into something different immediately after it is complete. Whether my hair is favorable or not, it still transforms every time it is deemed complete. Transformation….progressing from the person I no longer choose to be, is requiring time….Patience….and lots of Creativity. It feels so powerful to believe I will never stop growing.
This….is not how I end.
I get to keep Creating, ME.