Growing ridiculously straight hair might be my one natural ability. So it seemed like a no-brainer to grow it out and donate it to a TBD philanthropic group.
But it’s almost embarrassing to admit that course of action started more than half a decade ago. I was barely out of college, single and living in Knoxville. What’s taken so long?
The best excuse I’ve got is laziness, though procrastination is a very close second.
It started out as having to grow the blonde out of my hair, after reading Locks of Love can’t accept hair that’s been bleached.
My one requirement for hair length is that I've got to be able to pull it back/up. Locks of Love requires a 10-inch minimum donation in order to be used in a hairpiece, so once I could finally start accumulating length, I still had a long way to go. By this time I was married and we'd moved to Nashville.
But it slowly started getting longer.
|Titans vs. Ravens 2008 playoffs.|
And because I apparently have the attention span of a fruit fly, I had to tinker with style without losing length, which is how I ended up with bangs for the first time since fourth grade.
And the longer my hair got, the better care I took of it. Dead ends trimmed every 8 weeks with a pro Aveda repairing/moisturizing treatment, despite having stopped styling with heat. (Sadly, I wasn't this meticulous when I was coloring my hair.)
Under the premise of keeping it healthy enough to donate: I discovered that I can let my hair air dry (no flat iron needed), a single shampoo can last up to three days and Pinterest has endless updos and darling braids to emulate...
Enter the waffling stage.
"I don't know how short I want it/what kind of style to get."
"I heard some of these hair donation organizations aren't as altruistic as they make out to be, I need to do my research first."
"I haven't found a stylist I love yet."
What gives? What happened to being so gung-ho about sharing an abundance of hair with those in need?
Have I subconsciously been derailed by my husband's stated preference for longer hair? Or will cutting my hair short be a symbolic shedding of youth, now that I celebrate the repeated anniversaries of my 29th birthday?
Or have my locks become an adult security blanket by which I've measured some major milestones of my life?
It's likely I'm completely over-thinking this and making it far more difficult than it needs to be, which is pretty typical. Because currently, these strands are nearly at my waist and cutting off even 15 inches wouldn't bring it above my chin.
It's almost become a menace. My hair gets stuck in rolling up car windows, coat zippers, under handbag straps. (Pulling it out from under coats/scarves is the ultimate generator of static electricity, which equals immediate and irrational anger.)
While I may not have the answers to life's big questions I do know I'm motivated by deadlines and a friend gave me a gift card (about six months ago) for a cut at Plaza Midwood's Bang Bang Salon. (She tells me they offer clients lovely adult beverages that may or may not include vodka.)
So I'm giving myself till the end of the week to make an appointment. And this hair has till the end of 2013 before its tenure is over.
I'm not particularly enamored with New Year's prompting "fresh starts," but it seems like a fitting deadline. Especially since one of my besties and her husband come to play every NYE, and I'm hoping to time the cut so she can come for moral support.
Yes, change is daunting, especially when you have a look that's been working for you. (For years.)
But it's not as if more ridiculously straight hair won't grow again.