What a difference 10 inches makes

:-)

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

I bet you're not.

Sorry, but I'm not talking that sort of 10 inches today. (I'll save that for another day. Promise.) Today I'm talking hair. My hair. And the sudden, refreshingly freeing lack of it.

You see, I cut my hair last week. Walked into a salon, plunked down in the chair, and said 'Cut it all off'. And they did. 10 inches of it. And let me tell you, I've never been happier.

A little background on me and my hair. I believe I was born into this world with long, luxurious locks. Or at least as close to it as can be. I've had a love/hate relationship with it since day one. I love it when it's not in my eyes and no one is trying to style it. Tied back in a ponytail so I can feel the heavy swish of it against my neck and shoulders? Bliss. I hate it when it must be manipulated to make me look presentable to the world.

Since I can remember, my mother has always fussed with and styled my hair. Always. Always, there were the straight-cut bangs. You have a high forehead she'd say you need bangs. And always the curls. This first pic? I was two. And look at that. Freakin' curls and styling and bangs. And we're talkin' mega amounts of Aqua Net hair spray. I think I inhaled enough chemicals in my first few years of life to preserve this old body forever. And let me tell you, oh ye who are but a few decades upon this earth, we didn't used to have curling irons and blow dryers and styling sprays. Oh no. We had curlers. And I've suffered through curlers for more days and tearful nights than a kid should.

It starts with the plastic jar of pink Dippity Do. Mom washes my hair, slathers on gobs of the pink stuff, then rolls it up on a plastic curler, which is usually secured with a sharp little plastic pick strategically placed to poke into your brain. Then, comes the pretty pink scarf to cover the whole monstrosity, and 'My, doesn't that look pretty?'. Not. The pink scarf was just a dupe to make me believe it wasn't going to be so bad. But have you ever tried to sleep in curlers? The kind with the sharp little plastic teeth that dig into your head all night, and in a corpse-like position with your head stiff so you won't accidentally roll over and stab your ear with a curler? Not easy. But that's how it was before blow dryers became an affordable, easy method to drying one's hair, and curling irons could create an instant style.

So nice hair was necessity when I was growing up. I know it was just because my mother fancied herself a stylist, and look at all that hair she had to work with. A mother's dream! Check out this pic. Mom was so proud of her work, she insisted the picture be focused on my hair. I think they added the mirror at the last minute when someone decided that maybe they should include the kid's face for posterity.

And here's another of the long locks. I can't even go into the skating costume. Besides a plastic ice cream bucket full of curlers and a never-ending supply of Dippity Do, Mom also knew how to sew. The horrors. And the polyester. Oy.

Anyway, here I am now. Forty-two years old (almost; B-day's this Saturday). I've had long hair since birth. I've been complaining about said long hair for a good decade. But always a wistful look from the hubby keeps me from cutting it.

Well, I finally just did it. Didn't tell anyone. Didn't over think it. Just drove a straight line to the salon, and took off my glasses so I couldn't witness the shearing. And you know what? I. Am. Happy.

But here's the funny thing. I'm not going to post a 'now' pic, because after 10 inches was taken off, I'm not thrilled with the style. It's not me. It's very boyish, and needs some fine tuning. I suspect I'll return to the salon within the month to get the 'final version'. But you know, right now I'm so utterly thrilled to be done with the hair I can't even be bothered with the fact that it isn't quite right. I am liberated! I am becoming more bold. I am learning not to second-guess myself so much. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut. Trust your intuition. Take the leap and go for the ride.

So what have you done, that you've put off forever, and when you finally did it, it changed you? Physically or mentally? Did you learn to take more chances? To listen to yourself? Or do you have something you wish you dared do, but keep convincing yourself you probably shouldn't?

Just to report: When you cut off 10 inches or more, you can donate your hair to Locks Of Love, which I did. So beside the blissful feeling of lacking hair, I also got a feel-good kick knowing something I didn't need anymore could be put to good use. Now that 10 inches will make a wonderful difference to someone else's life.

Michele