Short hair: now a changed woman

I got my hair cut this week.

 

The reason this may be worth mentioning is that my hair went from a shaggy cape that hung two-thirds of the way to my waist to a perky little cap that doesn’t quite reach my shoulders.

 

I had been growing it for the past three years or so, always with the intention that I would donate the hair. This is the fifth or sixth time I’ve done it.

 

My perspective is quite simple. When it comes to the features of our mortal coils, it is as if each of us rolled the dice to determine the characteristics of a participant in a role-playing game.

 

Perhaps you’re familiar with the process.  For many of the games, an individual gets a card listing various attributes; common examples are “strength,” “agility,” “intelligence,” and even “luck.” Then dice are rolled for each attribute. The luck of the rolls might determine the resulting character is high in strength, but perhaps not particularly agile or intelligent.

 

So, like the “orcs” or “thieves” or “warriors” in a role-playing game, we have strengths and weaknesses we simply take for granted.

 

For example, my “roll” was quite unlucky when it comes to eyesight. Without corrective lenses, I would literally live life in a blur. When it was time for me to get new glasses recently, roughly half the people who saw my prescription stated aloud how unusually strong it needed to be.

 

On the other hand, of course, I have always been unusually tall for a woman. This means many people have to look up to me, at least literally, and that I can reach things on high shelves.

 

Now back to the subject at hand–my hair. Though it took me a decade or two to appreciate it, I was fortunate in this category. The hairs on my head are coarse (as opposed to fine) and there are a lot of them.  They also grow relatively quickly, typically going from above the shoulders to long enough to donate in three years or less.

 

Somewhere along the way it came to me that I could share this unearned good fortune. I am told recipients of the resulting wigs are people with hair loss from cancer treatment, a condition called alopecia which affects even children, or from other causes.  Why wouldn’t I want to help?

 

The only boundary for prospective donors is that their donation will be useless if the hair has been dyed. So if you ever wondered why I didn’t get rid of those greying streaks, you have just acquired the answer.

 

Thanks to my short stay in a beautician’s chair, I am now a changed woman. 

 

Just like any other significant change, my shorter hair will take getting used to. For one, I no longer have to pull 12 inches of hair out of the neckline of my shirts after I have put them on. As a former teacher, I still persistently wear that profession’s marker–a neck lanyard which holds my keys. Now, when I put the lanyard over my head, it doesn’t pull my hair.

 

When I turn my head quickly, the ends of my hair brush across my cheeks. In case you didn’t already know, long hair doesn’t do that, so I am still being taken by surprise. Even when it’s been tied back, long hair doesn’t let cool breezes hit your neck. Of course that shouldn’t typically be a concern in summer–in fact allowing the breeze to cool your neck is a good reason to have short hair–except this year, when we keep yo-yo-ing between too warm and too cool.

 

Anyway, I share all this not because I believe you have any abiding interest in my hair, but maybe to give you a few moments to meditate on the circumstances and situations in life that you’ve gotten used to, and about the way our perspectives are affected by even minor changes.

 

Or maybe you might give a few moments’ thought to the lucky “rolls” you have experienced when it comes to your life circumstances, and the ways you can pass that good fortune along. As for me, even now that it will be another three years before I can donate my hair again, I can still reach things on high shelves. Feel free to ask if we’re ever in the same aisle of the store and you need something lifted down.