Rapunzel, no more

So today, I am becoming a short-haired person. I am chopping off my long locks and going back to what I consider my normal self. I’ve never identified with the long-haired version of me; the woman who is supposed to be sexy and alluring with décolletage and dewy lips. I’ve resisted this person, instead throwing my hair up in an elastic in an attempt to find my usual, tomboy self each time my hair has started to grow past my neck.

I’ve done this several times, grown my hair out long, only to chop it off since it never felt right or natural. But, for the first time, I’ll miss the hair. I’ll miss the way it blows in the wind, the way it curls in an unruly manner when I’m at the beach, the way it feels to brush. I don’t know why I’m so nervous to cut it off, as each time before it’s been so liberating, like the first day you finally put on shorts after a long winter.

Regardless, later this afternoon, I’ll sit in the chair and allow my stylist to take it all off. Because it grows back, and somewhere out there is a little kid who needs the wig it will make more than I need it on top of my head. I just hope my stylist has some Valium, or wine or will just knock me out cold before-hand because I’m almost sure my head will explode when she makes that first cut. And I'm sure she charges extra for that kind of clean up.