Friday, September 7, 2012

Dread

Dread (verb):  anticipate with horror, fear, cringe

Yesterday, I got a haircut.

First, I need to explain why the thought of getting a haircut was so dreadful to me.  Since I was 14, I have only let one person style my hair.  Every trim, every color, every highlights and low lights, I trusted only my dear friend Yvette.  Even during my college years of travelling back and forth between PA and VA, I would wait for haircuts and schedule them with her.

Then, I got married.  I moved to VA.  I became an official grown-up.  I couldn't run home for a weekend just to get a haircut.  So I waited and waited for an excuse to go to PA for a haircut.  For over 14 months.

Now, to many of you this just seems ridiculous, but I had already tried to let someone else do my hair, and that had been a disaster.  When we were 20, Doug and I decided to attend our Jr/Sr Banquet at college.  Of course, that meant hair, nails, dress -- the works.  My friend Kim and I made appointments together at JcPenney's, mainly because I knew they were supposed to be expensive and high-end; this was my first time at a "real" salon in years, and I wanted to make sure it would be good.  I asked for the best stylist for up-dos and got the appointment.  I picked out a photo to show the hairdresser, who said it would be no problem.  After all, it was a very simple up-do; how poorly could it go?

It went very poorly.  First, I told him my hair had a lot of natural wave/curl to it.  He dismissed this and tried to put my hair in large rollers under a dryer.  That was a waste of 20 minutes.  After re-shampooing and re-conditioning my hair (to get all the curling mousse and gel out of it), my hair was blow-dried and finally ready to be put up.  However, the stylist parted my hair too far on the left.  After trying to sweep my hair over my forehead and behind my ear, the stylist said, "I know how to fix this!"  In a flash, I saw scissors and a chunk of my hair was gone.  Bangs.  I now had side bangs.  I never asked for bangs.  I did not want a cut.  But, before I could even utter a sound snip and gone.

Frankly, I didn't know what to say.  I mostly tried not to cry.  Everyone tried to be very nice about it, and (in all honesty) it looked perfectly fine.  But still, it scarred me for life.  I just couldn't trust another salon to touch my hair after that.

Well, here I was this week, 14 + months since my last haircut with an extra 13+ inches of hair.  It took an hour to detangle after showering.  I had very few styling options -- braids (which became a nightmare when it got so long) and wearing it up.  I had no choice.  I had to call and make an appointment to see someone in VA.  I got a recommendation from a friend (who had great hair).  I called.  My recommended stylist had an opening for that evening.  I booked it.  And I sat in horror all day.

Super long hair

Yes, it does reach to my waist.

Eventually, the time came.  I picked out a very simple cut (no color), and warned her that she was the first new stylist to cut my hair in over 11 years.  No pressure or anything.

Well, not only did I leave with a great cut (still medium length despite taking off 13 1/2 inches) and some new products, but I also had a sense of accomplishment.  I got a hair cut!  It was not horrible!  I might get another one before the end of this year!

Yea!  Short hair!

Still long enough to put up, but short enough to work with ;)


Even if it is something as silly as getting a haircut, fear has an effect.  I put off something as simple as getting a haircut out of fear.  And hair grows back; it wasn't even a life-altering choice.  If it went poorly, my hair would still grow out and be fixable.

The point is that so often we are scared to do something because of a bad experience, because we do not like change, because we have trust issues, or simply out of fear.  We end up surviving our lives instead of living them.  It is really worth it?

So, I challenge all of you, go get a haircut ;)

{2 Tim 1:7}

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