Day 29 S-366-LYDoG:
There I was. In a rush to get my hair dried and wrangled into some sort of socially acceptable state after my swim. The clock was ticking. I have a ton of homework and a busy weekend ahead. I was tugging at my hair in frustration. It was refusing to cooperate and I was just beginning to think that I wished my hair would behave, or that I could just shave it all off. Ladies, haven’t we all exclaimed that in a moment of irritation, not really meaning a word of it, of course?
While in the midst of this ridiculous battle, a woman crossed behind my reflection in the mirror. My hands stilled mid brush stroke when I registered that she did not have a single, solitary hair on her head. Despite this she held her self aloft with the confidence of someone who is secure in the fact that hair is, most certainly, the least of one’s worries.
For shame! I thought to myself.
Here I am, supposedly looking to turn my attitude around by finding something to be thankful for each and every day. My 366 Leap Year Days of blah, blah, blah.
Wow, what a hypocrite I am. I’m sure we’ve all found ourselves in these moments, realizing that, unintentionally, we have opened our mouths and inserted our feet. Luckily mine was only in my mind and I, at least, had the presence of thought to keep my mouth shut about my complaints.
But in my head?
Oh you bet! My foot was so far down my throat my toes grazed the lump forming there as I realized my absurd grievance over the fact that I have hair.
Like I said, for shame!
I have no idea what this woman’s story is. She may have shaved her head on purpose, you never know and it is never our place to judge. What did happen was that I was reminded of my friends who have valiantly lost their hair and held their heads high as they have battled cancer or other diseases. I’m reminded of my friends who, for whatever reason, are loosing their hair in a slow battle with age.
Most poignantly, I was reminded of a time in my life, not that long ago, that I too suffered from hair loss. All of those emotions of self doubt because of how I looked, the frustration over the lack of control, the tears I shed in the shower as junks of hair slid down my legs … All of it came back and hit me like a wall.
What am I thinking? I’d rather have my hair messy and looking as frantic as I felt than to have to ever, ever go through that again.
My journey through chagrin now complete, I will gladly declare that on day 29, I am ever so grateful for my hair!