It was nearly 3 years ago that I decided, not for the first time in my life, to chop off most of my hair. It’s been long, short and half shaved. Blond, black, red, white, purple and burgundy. The one constant with my hair since the age of 14 has been change.
But when I cut it short the last time? I felt kind of sad. Normally shearing off my locks brought a sense of relief. Of giddiness. Some sense of satisfaction. I was troubled at the time and needed a change. My hair was my go to opportunity to make a little difference. Add some lightness back into my life, but it didn’t sit well.
I kept it cropped for about a year though before I decided it was time to grow it back out. Waiting patiently for some sign it was getting long. It seemed to take forever. growing out slowly bit by bit, trying to keep my hair dressers scissor’s at bay. I let her cut the back to clean it up, trim my bangs when I realized I wanted to keep them, other than that I said no to scissors.
But still I waited for it to get long. People began to comment. To mention how long it was getting. I smiled. Waiting. It wasn’t there yet. I knew there would be some sign. Something would happen to let me know that I was once again the proud owner of long hair… I waited. Wondered. Hoped.
Until this morning when I zipped my hair up in my jacket on my way out the door.
Yep. It’s long now.