So I cut my hair yesterday. I hadn’t had it cut since January, and it was getting awfully long. Long enough to put in a ponytail, which helps, but that gets uncomfortable after a while, and then there are still these bits that hang down in my eyes… So I took the scissors to myself yesterday, and Matt helped when I got to a point where I couldn’t see properly anymore. We cut a good four inches off. And boy does it feel great!
I’ve been thinking for a while about letting the grey grow out, and especially now is a good time to do that. I hardly ever go out, I’m working from home… During Covid is a good time to do it. But I decided… I’m not ready for that. I like colouring my hair, I do it myself so it saves me money, and you know what? It’s kind of like painting a room in your home. Freshens things up, feels good. And that is also a good thing to do during a pandemic.
Then as I was rinsing, a sizeable chunk of hair came out in my hand. Instantly I became philosophical: Well, going bald wouldn’t be so bad. My sister in law and my mother both lost their hair as cancer patients. And I have a lot of nice toques to get me through the winter! And assuming it grows back, hey, maybe I will let the grey grow in after all. In those few brief moments I talked myself into being quite all right with losing all my hair.
But then no more chunks came out. So all is well. But it was funny how quickly I was able to go from one side of the question to the other and come to terms with it. Still, I am just as glad I will get to make that choice when I’m ready.