I spent the weekend depressed. Friday, after a regular day at work, I came home and cut my hair. Other than trimming off an inch or so almost three years ago, my hair hasn't been touched by scissors.
At first, I was excited. Thought nothing of it. Until reality set in and I realized it was a bit uneven which meant I had to trim a little more to get it just right. I went from hair down my back to hair just grazing my shoulders.
It put me in a sour mood all weekend after I realized what I'd done. Taken my gorgeous hair and butchered it. I can't even really explain why. Except that it felt too heavy. And I was enamored by some pictures in a catalog I got in the mail last week where this woman is standing there in this great outfit with her short hair and smiling. Really smiling, like she was thrilled with life. Or just told to smile that big by the camera guy. Or they photo shopped the smile onto her face. Or whatever.
And it occurred to me. I haven't smiled like that in a long time. Probably not since last summer on vacation. When life felt full of promise and everything was carefree and fun.
Don't get me wrong. There is still a great deal of promise in life. I have no doubts about that. The carefree and fun parts just seem to be missing. Having been replaced with frustrations that keep piling up, a situation that doesn't seem to change and feeling more and more as if I'm sitting between a rock and a hard place. And the space keeps getting smaller.
I've never been one to stay down in the dumps for long. I tend to be optimistic to a fault and will find the silver lining if I have to draw it around the clouds myself, so I was surprised when this simple act of cutting my hair put me in a downward spiral that I couldn't pull myself out of. It's not like I'd never cut my hair before.
In fact, when my alarm went off at the early pre-dawn hour of 5am, I considered re-setting it for a more normal hour of 7am and crawling back under the covers which, would have meant ignoring my quiet time to write. If you're a writer reading this, you know what a shock that statement is.
Since I knew that would just make me feel worse and plummet me further into the clutches of a woe-is-me attitude, I ignored the strong pull of my cozy bed, set up shop at the kitchen table and decided to take a shot at finding something positive about this despair I've found myself in.
Lucky for Google searches, I did. It turns out that according to Coco Chanel:“A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.” It got me thinking that of all people, Coco Chanel probably knows a thing or two about this type of life situation.
And I figured I can take the quote one of two ways. That either I've changed my life for the worse now that my beautiful hair sits in the bottom of a trash can covered over with crumbs, empty containers drooling food juices and clumps of used cat litter or that I'm about to change my life for the better. That maybe, just maybe, the act of cutting my hair is about to propel me into something new and different and better than being stuck between that dreaded rock and a hard place.
Wouldn't that be nice? I realize it might mean I have to do some things different. And that change can be scary. But those frustrations piling up on top of one another haven't been a walk in the park either.
Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. How to change your life? Cut your hair. And maybe, don't look back.
How's your life these days? Are you ready for a change?