I got nearly four inches of my hair cut off today. I’ve had the appointment booked for a couple of weeks and nearly every day have tried to imagine what it would be like with that much gone. I mentioned my plan to several people looking for encouragement, discouragement, or whathaveyou.
And today I did it.
Well, Sherry did it, but I asked her to. We both got very quiet as she cut those inches away.
And just in case you have no idea how big a deal 3-4 inches of hair being cut off is– let me tell you that most of us consider a trim less than half an inch.
And I love it. I felt better, my hair was healthier, the style seems easy– and I couldn’t wait for someone to notice.
I picked up Little Sir from school and… nada.
I realize expecting an eight-year-old boy to notice my hair might be setting the bar high, so I prompted him. “What do you think of my hair? Does it look different?”
He peered at me. “Not really.”
Hmph.
The thing is– it really is different. And it’s an important difference. For more reasons than can possibly be of any interest to anyone but me, this haircut is a difference. And one I’m proud of. Even if no one else notices and (gasp!) approves.
It’s a good difference. A good change. To me. And that’s enough.