I got a haircut today.
And for the first time in my life, I cried when I got home. Not even home, really. I cried in the car. Which was parked two blocks from my home. Then I cried on the way to Target. Pulled myself together (read: moped). Then cried on the way home from Target. And on the couch when I got inside.
No, no. It's not a bad haircut. It looks decent. Looks like a haircut I've had before, actually.
Somewhere between "I want my bangs cut" and "Why don't you give me layers?" I lost sight of what I really wanted. Long hair.
Sometimes when I haven't cut my hair in a while and my bangs start to blend into the rest of my hair, I feel ugly. Usually for a few days. And then I remember it's because God made me to have bangs just like God made me to have a big forehead. And I go on down the block and get my bangs cut for $5. The birds chirp a little sweeter and all is right with the world.
But sometimes. Oh that dreaded sometimes. I forget that I've worked hard for this long hair. And all those wonderful creations I can make with that long hair somehow run away from me. And I say something stupid.
"Why don't you give me layers?"
(In honor of full disclosure, I actually tell my husband to tell the hair dresser to give me layers because layers is literally foreign to me in Spanish.... for a reason. It's "capas". Not that I'll ever need it again).
The nice obliging man wets my hair. He makes the first cut.
And for the first time in my life, I know there will be tears. But I was too embarrassed to tell him I changed my mind.
That's the thing about embarrassment. Little does it effect the other person. But oh how it consumes me. I embarrass quite easily. I have to tell you, the fear of said embarrassment prevents me from doing many things. Adrian always tells me that's silly. Because in the end, had I said or done what I wanted to say or do, the other person most likely wouldn't have even noticed. Or at least not cared. He's probably right. Though I wouldn't know. I have yet to try.
As I type this, my hair is neatly gathered in a short ponytail. And it will take about a year to get back to what it was. And many a morning I will wake up and regret the decision to ask for layers and the consequent decision not to speak up.
The hairdresser wouldn't have even cared.
Next time you hear me make a decision based on the mere possibility of embarrassment, remind me that that's how this short ponytail came to be.
Oh, and if you hear me say I'm looking rather ugly, remind me I just need to cut my bangs. Nothing more.
*picture via pinterest. Click picture for link.