I felt a little guilty this morning drying my hair, muttering that it wouldn't behave the way I wanted. Big deal! It is what it is. And it is only hair.
When my hair was stick-straight, I wanted curls. Now that my hair has developed waves, I miss the days of it just laying nice and flat.
Growing up, my hair was "dishwater blond." That sure felt pretty. As I started to go "platinum," I'd occasionally get a little Miss Clairol and temporarily go back to "light golden brown." That didn't last long.
I wanted to have long hair like Laurie Partridge and Marcia Brady. Now when it gets long, I reach a point of needing to get a haircut because I'm sick of putzing with it.
Two dear women in my life have recently shaved their heads to beat chemotherapy to the punch. I believe they decided that it was better to go all at once rather than a tuft here and a handful there.
Cancer isn't the boss. Chemo isn't the boss. These women...they are the boss. They took the bull by the follicles...errr, horns and chose to take that step. Regardless of our hair color, length, or style, I will never feel as beautiful as the women who've had the courage to shave theirs off.
Samson had the right idea. There is strength in hair. But the strength isn't in letting it grow. It's in controlling when it goes.
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