I\u2019m coming to terms with \u2026 my hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I know there are bigger problems in the world. More important things to worry about. People out there really suffering. Physically. Financially. Mentally. I get that, and I feel petty about this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But still, I\u2019m coming to terms with this right now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s been a life-long struggle \u2026 my hair. A reckoning even. At times, depending on the humidity, some might call it an existential crisis. I would.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our hair, like it or not, helps to define us. That\u2019s why we spend so much time obsessing over it. Cutting and coloring it. \u201cStyling\u201d it. Trying not to lose it. Making sure that when we go out, it represents who we are. Or, who we want to be. It projects and speaks and says, \u201cLook here! This is me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For much of my life, I\u2019ve been trying to tame mine. To control it. Some people comb or part their hair. I\u2019ve always waged war. I see each morning as a running battle between good and evil. Two great (or at least slightly-above-mediocre) warriors facing off in the mirror, preparing for a battle of epic proportions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Me? I am the good, and slightly ordinary, knight who wants to instill peace and order \u2013 complete, inconspicuous flatness across the land atop my head. No unruliness. Nobody out of line. Nothing that draws any kind of unwanted attention. If my hair could speak, I would want it to say, \u201cNothing to see here. Please move along.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My hair? It is the great Dark Lord. The master of disorder and fish hook-like curls. It revels in freedom and excess and chaos. It lives to express itself like some kind of free-form artist, accepting no rules or boundaries. No themes or constricting styles. Constantly changing. It dreams of running wild and naked in a meadow or flying like the birds. If my hair could talk, it would say, \u201cCheck it out! I\u2019m on FIRE!!!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
All my life we\u2019ve fought, always to a standstill. A stalemate. Neither of us ever getting the edge. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
That is, until the coronavirus struck and the barbershop closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think the war is over. I think I have finally lost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I have now gone, if I\u2019m doing my math correctly, almost three months since the last time scissors and clippers and an industrial-strength hedge trimmer was unleashed upon my follicles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My hair has seized this moment. It sends long tangles snaking across my head. It twists and twirls like some kind of Medusa. It waves to small children and babies when I run. It tried to direct traffic in an intersection the other day. I believe part of it might actually be playing a game of \u201cJenga.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Its forces overran me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After all of these years, I have succumbed. Even worse, I\u2019ve started \u2026 (sigh!) \u2026 coming to terms with it. Wild, naked-in-the-meadow beast!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stare at it endlessly, and hate to admit this, but now even find it interesting. There are curls that defy physics like some kind of M.C. Escher work. One side looks like rolling waves on the ocean, while the other sports little sprouts and saplings emerging like a tropical forest trying to reach the sunlight. If you stare at it long enough and let your eyes go blurry, you can see a 3D mockup of the space shuttle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every day it seems to be different. In some new mood. Some days it parts left, other days right. Some days it seems angry and cranky, others light and carefree. There\u2019s no controlling it anymore. No sense trying. I just squeeze a lot of Jack Black styling gel in it and let it chart its own course. Strut its stuff. Draw unneeded attention. Try its best to shine!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My hair now runs the show. And I must say, I\u2019ve found a certain amount of serenity in letting go. Accepting I can\u2019t control it anymore. That order and almost obsessive rigidity isn\u2019t always the best way to go. Letting go has been liberating. Kind of cathartic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I guess I\u2019m coming to terms with it, at least for the time being. Learning to accept the beast. To let it scream, \u201cLook here! This is me! \u2026 I\u2019m on FIRE!!!\u201d Have your fun, buddy. The hedge trimmer war is coming back soon. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I\u2019m coming to terms with \u2026 my hair. <\/p>\n
I know there are bigger problems in the world. More important things to worry about. People out there really suffering. Physically. Financially. Mentally. I get that, and I feel petty about this. <\/p>\n
But still, I\u2019m coming to terms with this right now. <\/p>\n
It\u2019s been a life-long struggle \u2026 my hair. A reckoning even. At times, depending on the humidity, some might call it an existential crisis. I would. <\/p>\n
Our hair, like it or not, helps to define us. That\u2019s why we spend so much time obsessing over it. Cutting and coloring it. \u201cStyling\u201d it. Trying not to lose it. Making sure that when we go out, it represents who we are. Or, who we want to be. It projects and speaks and says, \u201cLook here! This is me!\u201d<\/p>\n
For much of my life, I\u2019ve been trying to tame mine. To control it. Some people comb or part their hair. I\u2019ve always waged war. I see each morning as a running battle between good and evil. Two great (or at least slightly-above-mediocre) warriors facing off in the mirror, preparing for a battle of epic proportions. <\/p>\n
Me? I am the good, and slightly ordinary, night who wants to instill peace and order \u2013 complete, inconspicuous flatness across the land atop my head. No unruliness. Nobody out of line. Nothing that draws any kind of unwanted attention. If my hair could speak, I would want it to say, \u201cNothing to see here. Please move along.\u201d <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[576,577],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2078","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2020-nutshells","category-coronavirus"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2078","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2078"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2078\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2081,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2078\/revisions\/2081"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2078"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2078"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nutshellcity.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2078"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}