Darling Don't You Go and Cut Your Hair

I don't remember the circumstances, but one time in High School I got pretty upset. Really upset. I can't remember why or what caused it, but I was pissed. I know I stormed out of a class room, a pair of scissors in hand, making my way out of sight and down the halls. My friends Jacob and Carni chased after me, worried about what I might do with a set of scissors in my highly agitated state. I'm not sure what they expected when they ran breathlessly into the bathroom -

But I'm pretty sure it wasn't me in front of a mirror, very calmly attempting to cut my hair, looking relatively surprised at their befuddlement.

I got so angry I needed a change, then and there.

Fast forward to earlier tonight when, sitting at my computer attempting to write a post, I was struck with an extreme and sudden wave of Existential Depression. The kind of depression you get when looking at people in line at the grocery store, and suddenly realize how pointless we all are (this happens a LOT to me in grocery stores, I don't know why there specifically). A sudden, total, and complete understanding of the insignificance of the average individual and your definite place within that system. A brief burst of hopelessness. Never long lived, but overpowering.

Today it was the Facebook mini-feed that did it; an array of status updates without charm or wit that made me realize once again the arrogance it takes to assume that we have something worth putting out to the world and just how easily we all assume that to be true, without thought or effort. None of which made attempting to write easier - compounded by a computer running the speed of a dying tortoise and a broken chair, things were not going well. The Existential Depression swiftly turned into a wave of self loathing (funny how that happens - my theory is that self-directed anger is much easier to feel ownership over than insignificance) until I was standing in the bathroom, staring in the mirror shaving my chest.

That's right - obviously the natural evolution of my impromptu hair cut some 6 or 7 years ago.

I was a good pectoral and a half done before I realized I was making a pretty big mistake. But a half-shaved chest looks even worse than a very conspicously shaven chest so at that point I had pretty much made the commitment.

I now feel ridiculous.

I have this need to create immediate physical change when I feel personal disatisfaction; as if I can somehow assume total control over my appearance and therefore my life and attractiveness (which is what this always comes down to). Body hair is a major self-esteem issue of mine (I hate it, can you tell?) second only to weight. That obviously has no quick fix so suddenly I'm in the bathroom presiding over a shearing. What I seem to forget every time though is that the result of this impromptu power struggle never, ever, looks good and invariably leaves me feeling even worse; because now I have to worry about the ludicrousness of chest stubble if I hook up with anyone over the next month.

The lesson should probably be something related to body image and self acceptance or the beauty of individuality even on Twitter or in Giant.

But I'm pretty sure it's actually that I need to be kept away from styling devices anytime I feel down or I'm going to spend my life looking like a test subject for bad DIY fashion trends.

And that tomorrow is gonna be REALLY itchy.
Gotta say girls, I don't know how you do it.

The Sound of Settling

I'm starting to go grey.

I don't think it's going to be any day now, and I'm not sure if anyone who sees me on the street (or even often) would notice yet - and if they do, no one's made a crack or joke so far. But slowly and surely it's happening.

And I'm thinking a lot about it.

I was doing my hair in the mirror for Proof a few weeks back and I noticed this one long white strand dead center in my spit-curl, staring at me from the mirror. I've had grey hairs before - it was a favored game of my ex to find them in my head and pull them out, so I've known that they're there. But this was different. It felt different. It was stark, white, and up front in a way that could not be ignored.

Yesterday I started looking through a mirror and found a lot more. And today in the shower I started to really think about why it was bothering me so much. And not in any kind of prominent or intense way, nothing painful or anxious, no freak out, just a bother - like a small hangnail that I'll subconciously play with even though I know I shouldn't until it starts to hurt.

I don't want to go grey.
I don't want to get any older right now. I don't want to become any less attractive.
I don't want to settle.

Tough luck, right?
I mean obviously, not many people do.

I just wish it weren't the hair, y'know?

I care a lot about my hair. It's one of those things where I don't always have a lot about my physical appearance that I can usually point to with a great deal of pride. And that's too bad, cause I doubt that has as much to do with the reality of how I look so much as it has to do with my own warped perceptions. But even with all that self-defeating internal rhetoric I have playing out on a daily basis, I know one thing - I've got nice hair. Really nice hair. Thick, bouncy, soft, curly, full - all those stereotypical words you may hear in an overzealous shampoo commercial also happen to fit my flowing locks. The kind you just wanna play with. I know I do.
I really don't want to lose this one thing that even on the worst feeling days I can sort of pull out and use as a turbo boost of self esteem.

But more importantly than any kind of vanity or self-conciousness, I've discovered that that hair is a real pronounced part of my self-identity. Ever since New Mexico, when I grew my hair down to my shoulders and finally had that long hair I always wanted, this sort of shaggy would be rock star look has become a part of my mental picture. Driving down the highway on a sunny day, blasting loud catchy melodies with the window down, hair swirling in the pressure vortex of my elantra, or carolla, or one day convertible - I'm happy. Few things get me so quickly to that ever elusive far off state of happy. This is how I see myself. I'm 23 - I don't feel like letting that go.

I don't really want to deal with getting older. There's a lot I feel like I've missed out on, opportunities I wasted, chances I didn't take - hours refreshing the same webpage waiting for content. I'm in a place now where i feel I'm starting to rectify that, inch by inch, choice by choice.
But it's hard to keep that momentum going when it feels like there is a ticking clock waiting on top of my head, letting me know there's only so long before I'll have to look in the mirror and evaluate whether I have more time ahead or behind.

Or maybe I'll just look distinguished...