A Highly Unlikely Life Lesson I Learned from My Hair

                I love pretty hair.  I have often been told I have beautiful hair, but if anyone could see me right now, no one would understand that sentiment.  I wore it in a big bun on top of my head all day and when I released it into its natural state it was so big and wild I couldn’t stand to be alone with it, so I rolled it up and clipped it in a mess on the back of my head to be dealt with tomorrow.  This is one of the perks of being single that no one ever talks about, I get to go to bed with my hair as crazy as I like and there is no one to be appalled…or have an opinion…or make a comment…or tell me sweet lies about not caring what I look like.  I just get to be, crazy hair and all!

 I was blessed with thick, naturally curly hair.  Not the kind of curls that form dreamy ringlets that fall in pretty ribbons from my head, but on a lucky day it curls long and beautifully around my face.  On not so lucky days it ends up in a big bun on top of my head.  This unpredictability leads me to flat iron it on most days to avoid any surprises.  But heaven help me if there is any humidity!  There is no amount of flat ironing in the world that helps me in a humid climate.  My hair just gets bigger and bigger each day until it eventually takes on a life of its own.  The amount of hair I have also creates other challenges, like hair bands big enough to hold it (I always wear two), finding the elusive barrette or clip that is big enough to hold it, and constantly trying to keep it out of my face when I’m working.  But there has been no challenge comparable to finding a hair stylist who possesses the right skill set to cut and thin it enough to keep this mane manageable. 

My issues with hairdressers go way back.  I grew up with haircuts in the kitchen and my mother was the only hairdresser I ever knew, with one exception.  The day I decided to cut my hair in the bathroom at school…up to my chin.  For most girls, this would have been a non-issue.  At sixteen I was too naïve to realize that when you cut thick hair that short it doesn’t form an angelic bob around your face. No, my friend, it does not.  Instead, it turns an otherwise beautiful head of hair into a walking lampshade.  Of course, the school day eventually ended, and I had to go home and face my mother wearing my newly acquired living room decor.  So, I did the only reasonable thing one can do when they have made an excruciating error in judgment and have no viable explanation…I lied.  I told her someone had cut a chunk out of my hair in band class and I was left with no alternative but to cut it or walk around with a chunk out of my hair all day at school.  My saint of a mother took pity on my lying self and sprung for a visit to the salon in an attempt to save me from wearing furniture on my head for the foreseeable future.  God bless that woman!

  When I was twenty, my friend and I decided to go see a very popular stylist in a neighboring town.  The first time we went, this very flamboyant man opened my eyes to the miracle of layers.  No more blunt cuts across the bottom, I had LAYERS!  Lots and lots of layers.  I felt like the Queen of Sheba…aww there is nothing like a great haircut!

                A couple of months later we went back…this is when I learned the power of a terrible haircut.  Same guy, same salon, but definitely not the same cut.  It was brutal.  I couldn’t style it anyway that didn’t look like I had chunks cut out of my hair.  So, I did the only thing my twenty-year-old self could think to do.  I put my hair in a ponytail and wore it that way every day while my hair grew out.  I am very lucky to have hair that grows quickly, so after about six months I was able to go to a Super Cuts and get it fixed.

                It wasn’t an amazing haircut.  You know the one that brings a smile to your face, puts that runway pep in your step and inspires a new Facebook selfie.  No, this haircut just didn’t suck. This was a huge improvement over the last one.

                Time passed.  My hair grew.  Eventually I had to get another haircut.  I no longer lived near my mother, and I found myself missing the stool in the kitchen where I never got a haircut that made me look like a Barbie doll that had a run in with four-year-old wielding a pair of safety scissors.  But, mother nature is an unforgiving master and split ends were imminent, I had to go to the salon.  I decided a mediocre haircut far outweighed a bad haircut, so I went back to the safety of Super Cuts.

                As I sat in the chair waiting for my stylist, I quickly realized he and his friend next to him were far more interested in talking about their social lives outside of the salon than he was in making sure I had a proper haircut.  He completely missed one side of my hair.  I asked him if he was going to layer the left side.  He combed through it and said it looked good.  It did not look good.  I went home and attempted to straighten my hair, using the pre-flat iron era tools for straightening, a hair dryer and a brush.  It was clear that half of my hair had not been cut.  Really. Really. Obvious.  After succumbing to tears for a moment, I decided to call the salon and talk to a manager.  How in the world can you mess up that badly and call yourself a professional?  I explained the unprofessional behavior of the stylist and the fact that my hair was obviously only half cut.  She told me to come in and have them redo it…but I didn’t dare.  I had forsaken the idea of ever having great hair again.  Ponytails saved me once again!

                A couple of years, and several inches of hair later I met a lady that cut hair from her house.  Aimee.  She had amazing hair.  Her family had amazing hair. Her friends had amazing hair.  It was one of those moments when your gut just tells you all is well, and I decided to take the plunge.  She cut my hair and once again I knew the joy of a truly magnificent coif!  She even convinced me to try highlights in my hair and it was as if a whole world of hairportunities opened up to me.  Oh.  The.  Fun!

Aimee remained my hair stylist and my friend for years and it seemed my hair woes were over.  Even when I moved to Germany, I only succumbed to the hands of strangers for two haircuts out of desperation.  I would wait insane amounts of time just to have Aimee cut my hair when I came home to visit.  And it was worth the wait every time.  She was the hair stylist against which every other hair stylist in my life would be compared.  She got it right every time and I loved her for it.

                In 2006 the unthinkable happened and Aimee died suddenly after a routine surgery.  She was only thirty-six years old and left behind four small children, a doting husband, a legacy of remarkable handmade quilts, and a mountain of shoes she had collected during a shoe drive to send to Africa.  She was an all-around amazing human that left a gigantic hole in the world that can never be filled.

                A year or so later, I was bemoaning my need for a haircut and having no stylist when Jason’s mother suggested I try my sister-in-law’s hair lady, Denise, whom she had started using as well.  I decided it was time to move forward and try someone new lest I resolve to become the next Chrystal Gail with my hair dragging on the floor behind me wherever I go. 

                Much to my surprise, it turned out, Aimee was not the only hair goddess in the world. Denise is a masterful stylist and can turn the most neglected mop into an Oscar worthy do.  To this day, if I am in Vegas, I pay Denise a visit and have her fix whatever travesty is happening on my head.

                Three and a half years ago when I moved to Colorado I decided to start shopping for a stylist as part of my “new to the area” routine that I had adopted during the course of my career as a military spouse.  This was nearly as important, but far more daunting than shopping for schools and the right neighborhood.  Luckily, I found a salon close to my house and a great stylist.  She was no Aimee or Denise, but I was satisfied.

                Here is where things went awry.  This salon, it seems, is quite possibly the worst salon in the world.  They are unable to keep employees and their customer service is the WORST.  Three times in the last three years I have showed up for my scheduled appointment only to find out that my stylist is no longer there, and they rescheduled me with another stylist…which is dangerous territory for my unruly hair.  I appreciated the convenience of a close salon and always came away with a passable haircut.  So, I stayed.  But this was not all.  They canceled appointments twice without letting me know, charged me for a missed appointment, even though I had called several times without anyone answering the phone, and remained a loyal customer through their inability to return calls, answer the phone during business hours, or keep appointments.  Then yesterday, they canceled my appointment yet again.

                As an only parent, I work all week, go to school full time, cook, clean, and keep a busy schedule with my teenagers, and spend my weekends cleaning, working on projects, doing homework, paying bills, running kids around, doing yard work, making any repairs that need to be done around the house, taking the cars in for maintenance, and ALL of the many other things that need to be done to maintain a home and a family, on my own.  Finding two hours to spend at a salon is not a small thing.  Yesterday was no different.  I had an incredibly busy day that started at 7:30 in the morning.  At 1:50 this afternoon when I stopped moving to scarf down a sandwich, my first food of the day, and headed to the salon only to be told I needed to reschedule. So, I left…without rescheduling. 

                I got a call a few minutes later from the stylist who apologized and offered to reschedule me for later in the week. 

                I had this moment where it would have been so easy to just schedule the appointment and accept that this was the price of a conveniently located salon, or I could have gotten very angry and told her exactly what I thought of her and the salon.  But no.  That is not what I did.  I was not angry, I could see very clearly, and I made a decision that I would not be treated like an inconvenience.  I would not be disrespected one more time.  She clearly wasn’t interested in keeping my business.  So, I fired her.  And it felt almost as good as walking out of a salon with a million-dollar haircut.

                It’s just a haircut.  It’s just not that big of a deal, right?  But it’s not just the haircut, or just the salon.  The way I let them treat me for the last three years is a pattern.  It’s the crap I have put up with in so many areas of my life.  At work, at home, and in my marriage.  I let them treat me like my time doesn’t matter.  My needs are an inconvenience.  My loyalty is of no importance.  My financial investment does not matter.  All of it.  And it is time to just stop.

                We teach people how to treat us.  Every time we allow someone to use us or disrespect us without consequence, we are teaching them that it is ok to use us and disrespect us.  Whether it is in a personal relationship or a professional one, the lesson is the same.  Being willing to walk away from a toxic relationship whether personal or professional is a skill I desperately need to master!

                I have always been an achiever.  I got good grades in school, I get even better grades I college.  I work hard.  I learn new skills on my own and master them quickly.  I have always tried to be the best at whatever I do. The best wife, the best mother, the best employee, the best student.  I have somehow attached the approval I get from others for my efforts to my self-worth.  This is not right, and I am striving to live a different life.  A life where I am enough just as I am, today.  Anything I achieve is for myself, for MY betterment, for the attainment of MY goals.  These things, in turn, are a benefit to my family, my employer, and everyone else in my life, but that is not why I should be doing them. 

                At the beginning of each new year I always spend some time reflecting and deciding where I want to be at this time next year.  I set great goals.  Some of them I have achieved and others I have let go…I am such a flawed work in progress.  This year is no different.  In the last several months I decided to start something called “Intentional Living”.  Part of this is a daily journal where I write down things I am grateful for, my dreams, a goal, and my to-do list.  This creates a mindset where I am doing things each day to achieve my goal which will make my dreams my reality.

                Today, on the phone with that stylist, I had a choice.  I could do what I have always done, or I could intentionally make a different choice, a choice that will get me closer to achieving my goal.  My goal has nothing to do with haircuts, stylists, or even teaching people how to treat me.  My goal is something much, much bigger.  But the person I need to be to achieve my goal would NEVER allow some crappy little salon to continually disrespect her or treat her as an inconvenience.  No, the person I need to be to achieve my goal commands respect and inspires others to treat her accordingly.  That is the person I was today when I fired my hair stylist, and that is the person I always want to be in every area of my life.

                Wishing you all a very happy 2019!  My wish for you, dear readers, is to live intentionally and be the person you need to be to make your dreams your reality…and hopefully to do it with really great, runway worthy hair.