So, there went 17 inches of my hair. Yes, really. From "way down my back" to "barely down my neck," in a matter of seconds. Neatly banded at each end to keep it all together so it can be sent off to a wig shop or whatever.What have I lost? What have I gained? Just what did that hair mean to me?
I suppose it was part of an image. An image that had been cultivated over years, an image that had once appealed to someone. A display of sorts, not unlike the peacock's tail. But times changed, goals were reached or passed or altered, and the hair no longer served that purpose. Now there are different goals, different people to impress, and an extra foot and a half of hair isn't worth what it once was.
I may let it grow back someday - I don't know. To some extent, it's easier than getting it trimmed all the time. On the other hand, long hair is harder to keep combed. For now, though, a haircut is a rite of passage, a sign of changing and refocusing on different things, different people, different goals. The first outwardly visible sign of what will probably be many changes in life.
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