It cascaded down, a whimsy contained in the wavy brown curls. But a heaviness crept in and it spent more time tied back, tucked under a hat, twisted into a bun, anything but loose. The day I approached the equivalent of a pioneer-era religious conservative’s hairstyle, it was a wake-up call. My neck was tired of carrying it and I was tired of drying it. Haircut time.
On a pleasant summer day, I traveled with a family friend to the salon. When I entered the salon, the hum of dryers and idle chatter filled my ears. My eyes adjusted to the light. My stylist greeted me with a bright smile and set to work, a quick scalp and neck massage before washing my hair. The scent of mint arose as she lathered and conditioned, the rush of warm water danced through my tresses. So relaxing.
We held one conversation after another as she cut away the length no longer wanted to create a new shape. Comb and hold and snip. Comb and hold and snip, snip. Brushed, dried and straightened. A spin around in the chair, a mirror help up, bravo. Just what I asked for–the heaviness gone, a fresh style remained.
My friend and I left the salon. I put on sunglasses, imagined the light reflecting off the trimmed locks as we strolled into the cloudless afternoon.
Did you lift a weight off your shoulders lately? Tell me about it.