I rang in the new year alone for the first time in my life. It was glorious, not being obligated to someone else, not having any responsibility, not having a lick of an agenda. Total freedom, at the beach that a dear friend had let me borrow. I had the time to sit and write or walk on the beach for hours til the sun melted away or lazily sit and watch Harry Potter. (yeah it took me this long to watch the whole thing) Time to be fully present with my thoughts and dreams to create proper intentions for the upcoming new year. My journal was overflowing with ideas of how to grow my business and blend the new skills I had learned throughout 2016. I felt good.
As I gathered my things to head back to the bay on New Year's Day, ready to take on 2017, I made a hair appointment. It was time for a trim. I had a series of bad haircuts that had left my head somewhat lopsided and was a consistent source of frustration. Why is curly hair so hard to cut? I had a friend reflect that most of the images of me he had seen looked kind of the same, like I didn't really age at all. Seemed a backhanded compliment, but I took it as a hint that it may be time for a change.
Part of the need to keep my hair a relatively consistent length was because of the modeling work I was doing. Agencies shared my photos for bookings and auditions and the client expected that person to show up. So I stayed that person for much longer then I realized. I used my hair as some sort of mask, a thing of comfort and consistency in the wild ride of what my life was then. I didn't really think about any of this until I went in to the new stylist and sat in the chair and said "Im ready to let go". Her eyes got big and filled with excitement when I gave her permission to do what she thought fit me. An exercise in complete trust in a human I didn't know with something that had previously held so much identity and in a lot of ways, security for me. So I sat in her chair, the day after I rang in the new year solo, and let her take out a razor to cut off something that had died long ago.
I have never felt more free.
Why do I write a story about my hair? Well, it clearly has nothing to do with the actual locks. The power of our hair as well as the story attached to it is different for everyone. When I realized my attachment to mine and how it was tied to an identity that just didn't fit anymore, it opened the door to change. Allowing myself to actually let go of this thing that didn't add anything to my life anymore was like a breath of fresh air. So much ease, getting ready now too! For years I was afraid to cut it to short as it held such a poignant piece of my identity. Now as I learn to let go of all sorts of stories, I can let go of this one as well.