I had two conversations about hair today, not counting the long, raucous, lively discourse between me and my stylist from 2pm to 5pm.
Before I surrendered myself to her care, I talked with my secretary. Miranda is 23, a Paul Mitchell School graduate, and beautifully kept herself. I disclosed to her that I completely fall apart when I interact with hairdressers. She tried to understand but confusion danced across her face. It’s about growing up believing myself to be unworthy of the money or the effort, I told her. I could feel the kindness pouring from her. Just tell her what you want, she suggested.
I can’t. I just can’t. Fortunately, the woman who took over as my stylist after my long-time hairdresser unexpectedly passed away totally rocks. I had not been to her since she pinched-hit for Robert when he couldn’t make an appointment on what turned out to be the day before he died. I couldn’t bring myself to sit across from his station for months. It felt disloyal. This compounded my normal anxiety about asking for service and spending a huge chunk of change on something as frivolous as a vain attempt to look presentable.
This evening I visited with a new acquaintance who came to bid some work at my house. We found an unexpected kinship in our respective recent efforts to change our approaches to life and forge a new philosophy. He told me about books he had been reading; and I explained my quest to internalize the philosophies of non-violent communication. He spoke of re-programming old beliefs about his shortcomings.
I told him about my reluctance to get my hair done. He completely understood. He had the same anxieties as I do. Not about hair, but about himself. After he’d left to go home and take care of his sick wife, I remained on the porch, in the coolness of the night, contemplating lies we tell ourselves about our inferiority.
Today I spent $175 getting my hair done, not counting tip. I calculated that as $58 an hour. Way cheaper than therapy, and I laughed the entire time. Completely worth every penny.
It’s the twenty-fifth day of the thirty-second month of My [Ongoing] Year Without Complaining. My life continues, a little lighter, a little less tattered.
My amazing new look was created by Kelley Blond at Lady Lucky Hair Parlour in Westport.