As I looked at the face looking back at me from the mirror, I realized this was it. For the longest time I had wanted my hair real short and there it was. Right around my neck. Paying at the counter and slipping a tip to the girl who cut my hair, I waited for the friend who came with me to the hair salon. All through my childhood and youth, cutting my hair was a no-no. Cutting it short was blasphemy. For one instant on Saturday, I was filled with the urge to do something drastic. In a phase in my life where everything feels so out of control, the only thing I could control was the length of my hair. So, there it lay, small locks scattered on the floor.
Walking out, I ran my fingers along the neckline feeling the fresh cut edges. On the drive home I was filled with a mixture of feelings. A sense of accomplishment, a teeny tinge of regret, apprehension and fear. As the weekend flew past and all day today I was feeling a recurrent theme run in my head. The joy of doing something as impulsive as chopping off hair. To give in and do something non traditional. To act and not really worry about consequences. So what if it did not suit me? It’s hair after all, I tell myself.
But can every action that is off the well worn track be justified that way? Will I be able to live with the aftermath of it? Will I linger in regret wondering about the what-ifs?
I can only wonder.