The Comforts of a Haircut

Everyone has a comforter; mine, for most parts, is getting a haircut. This simple routine job has developed more and more through the years; from a necessity to a fashion statement and now to even more than that, a haircut has become an essential part of how we would like to appear to the world: elusive and mysterious, chic and happening, bubbly or erratic or simply a stander-out.
But a haircut means something else to me; I realized this last year in the middle of all the things that were getting the better of my patience and anger: marks, books, coaching, school, homework, career choices, stress…the list was endless. And then I went for a haircut.
The first came the hair-wash: I love the hair-wash hair salons provide. With a towel draped across my shoulders and my hair dipped in a basin, I closed my eyes and simply breathed in and out. My hair was being washed on its own account and I could feel the water- first cold and then hot, that flew through it. My head felt lighter, my eyes were drooping and my worries flitted lazily in and out of my sight of vision until they receded into the background and the sensation of my hair and my head pre-dominated my psyche.
All too soon and still in a dream, I drifted to another chair and my dripping hair were lightly dried with a towel before the haircut finally began. Feeling my soft hair fall silently to the floor under the click-clip of a pair of competent scissors, I am ashamed to admit that I began to cry for my helplessness overcame the very precarious balance upon which I had carefully set my life, accepting and striving to auto-suggest to myself that everything was all right. But like silent snow, the fall of hair became a beautiful sight to me; perhaps not as beautiful so as to move a bard to relate a ballad but enough to send me tumbling into my own personal pool of misery like nothing else had. I shed silent tears under the curtain of hair but then the snipping stopped.
Hot hair blasted unto my face and I felt my hair turn from their everyday, worn look into something that might come out for an actress in a movie scene every day. At least for me, I felt re-ignited and my tears stopped as suddenly as they had come. I was comforted by the hot blow-dry and felt at peace, some of the anger and sadness having ebbed out of me. I was well spent and knew I wouldn’t need to cry again for a while to come.
Ten minutes later when I finally emerged from the salon, I felt as though the world had been newly washed after a storm and even though the scorching sun was at its mid-day best, I imagined dimensions I hadn’t seen before and the hair salon suddenly became my personal place of reverence. 🙂


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