Is everything a metaphor?

Yes, if you're me.

I got my hair cut today. Woohoo. I am, to no one's surprise, weird about my hair. In general, I like it. I like that it's thick, and naturally a pretty color (at least in my opinion), and despite the anti-texture wars we fought in the 90's, I actually have learned to like the curl. It may not do the mythical perfect ringlet thing, but it has personality. And I like the fact that I can wear it curly or straight(ish) depending on my mood.

As a girl, your hair is such a THING. Unless you are very chill or completely un-self-conscious, your hair is a gigantic part of your self-image. It's probably cultural conditioning, you know, a sign of the oppression of females or some other argument that I could pull out of my ass while blindfolded thanks to 4 years of Bryn Mawr, but for whatever reason, it's so integral to how you see yourself. Going bald? Devastating--and not at all because you are superficial.

So it makes sense that how I feel about my hair is closely tied to my self-esteem. I forget to get my hair cut and after a bit it just gets shaggy. The layers grow out, the ends start to fray, and suddenly it is impossible to style to my satisfaction. I straighten it because I can't even stand how it looks curly, but even that just emphasizes the shag; it feels flat, and dull. When this is the case, all day I am distracted by the flyaways or the bumps, and I walk around with my chin lowered a bit, self-image thrown by the disheveled mess on top of my head. So I try to wait it out a week because I know I'm being ridiculous, but eventually I cave. I pay my $35 and head to my stylist, tell her I want an inch or two off, and watch her work her magic. Avoila, I am transformed! Magically, the curls re-bounce, my head seems to weigh about 5 pounds less, and I can look at a mirror without automatically going "grrr, stupid hair!"

(If you want to know what I feel my hair looks like at this stage, go to google images and type in "Gene Wilder Young Frankenstein.)

Today,as I mentioned, was haircut day. I was talking to my coworker before and I told her that it was so funny because I get so bothered about my hair when it needs a trim, but no one ever notices that I've gotten it cut. It just curls up and no one can tell that it is curling half an inch shorter or that my head is five pounds lighter or so on. I get sooo obsessive about it, but no one else can tell! This is metaphor number one: basically, that you can drive yourself crazy over things no one else cares about. The things we are self-conscious about are so rarely what other people notice.

Anyway, my coworker laughed and asked me what I wanted to do with it. I said I was just getting a trim. Wah wah. I realized that I have been getting the same haircut for almost a decade. Long, with long-layers. I haven't dyed it since college (a depressingly long time ago). I had the following convo with my stylist.

Me: "Hi."
Her: "Hey! We just doing a trim?"
Me (embarrassed a bit at my predictability): "Well, yeah. I don't know though, I'm kind of bored."
Her (sounding excited): "Oh, you want to lose some length?" (aka, please give me something entertaining to do!)
Me: "I don't think I can. I HAVE to pull my hair back, and when it's short I feel like a dandelion puff."
Her (face back into sad normal expression): "Oh, ok. So about an inch off then?"

So Metaphor Number Two: I get stuck in ruts more easily than trucks on a mud road.

It takes me a while to find a stylist. If you cut my hair wrong, I look like a mushroom. So I spend some time to find a person who can do my one style in a good way, and once I find them, I stick with them. I am the serial monogamist of hair.

Is that bad, I asked myself as she snip snip snipped. I mean, I believe in commitment. I'm too neurotic for anything but monogamy. And I know what I like, and what works for me, and I stick to it. Isn't that the secret to contentment???

On the other hand, if I hear myself say, "About an inch, with those layers around my face," one more time, I might have to scream. Not a good idea when someone is holding open scissors centimeters from my head.

And it's even more appropriate as a metaphor for my life. I've liked a lot of the places I've lived and the things I've done, but every time and place I start to get the feeling, "this is all so the same." I am a creature of habit, but the habits creep up on me, and crowd me in with their uniformity, and I start to get bored. Up to now, I've always made big changes. In college when I felt the boredom of Bryn Mawr, I didn't take a course at UPenn, I went to London. After two years of DC began to feel a little limiting, I didn't explore hobbies: I moved to Boston and changed careers. For someone who clings so closely to people, things, and routines, I am apparently very reliant on the "big change." We are all very lucky I didn't walk out of the hair salon with a platinum blonde mohawk.

Again, nothing necessarily wrong with that. But it's not the most sustainable action plan, especially at this point in my life where I think about wanting to settle down and have a family. A mohawk is no one's friend. And by relying on the big change, I end up leaving behind a lot of stuff that I do care about. Not something I take lightly.

So once again a simple daily routine becomes cause for deep navel-gazing and life-philosophy. I guess the answer is to learn how to make little changes. (either that or marry Rafael NAdal and spend my time touring the globe for tennis tournaments. Not a bad option). Learning how to adjust my life just enough to keep myself interested rather than relying on dramatic moves seems like a good hallmark of maturity, so I guess I will work on that.

Or maybe I'll just get some subtle highlights. :)