When the calendar turned to April I realized I hadn’t had a haircut since October.
This was the longest I’d gone without getting a trim of any kind and definitely the longest my hair had ever been. How long, you ask? This long:
But then I was faced with a decision: what do I do with it? I found myself in a kind of analysis paralysis where I found hairstyles I liked but didn’t want to commit to them because once it was cut, what if I didn’t like it?
I crowdsourced ideas for both cuts and stylists form friends, settled on a stylist based on lots of recommendations, and booked an appointment.
I was nervous. This would be my first haircut since coming out as nonbinary and after decades of men’s haircuts I wanted something a bit more androgynous. I was also nervous because I would be going to someone I hadn’t met before and allow them into my personal space to do their job.
The day came and I arrived for my appointment early.
I shouldn’t have worried. My stylist and I had some acquaintances in common and some similar life experiences and I was almost immediately at ease.
I showed them a picture Krystal had sent me that I thought fit me:
I loved watching them work in the mirror as I was transformed.
I have a difficult time conveying emotion at times, especially around folks I don’t know that well. I tried my best to let them know I really, really loved what they’d done, giving them a double fist bump as I left the salon.
And then I went home and made grilled cheese and cried at how happy I felt.
To paraphrase Arthur Dent, it must be Tuesday. I could never get the hang of Tuesdays.
I browsed a bit and ended up feeding my addiction, picking up two new books despite the physical TBR waiting at home. When I checked out, the machine still said I had a book checked out, despite it already being on a van to another branch.
Running In My Head 