sailing into the sunset

Uncrowning

Last year I lost ten kilos, grew my hair and started dating. This year I've sworn off dating, gained ten kilos and cut my hair. Several times.

If hair is a woman's crowning glory, what does it mean when it's gone? Is she less a woman, not feminine, making a statement, seeking change? Is she suddenly edgier, more interesting, sexier, less soft?

Hair and grief have a long history together. I only have to look around to find it. This week I learned that my aunt's new partner shaved off his facial hair after 30 years... and a divorce. I have made an art of cutting mine off. If l look back at my many haircuts, I can find a heartbreak - small or large - to match most.

The body of a tree records everything that happens to it, lays down history in the rings of its trunk. Seasons of growth, debilitating droughts, lush summers. A wound in the trunk of a tree will leave evidence, even if it's only a ripple in one year's archive.

Our hair does the same, showing the history of our bodies, our health or unwellness. Wouldn't it include our emotions, our memories too? It might explain why so many turn to scissors after ending relationships, a death, giving up a way of life. Declaring ourselves fit for a fresh start and unburdened by the past. Revealing that we have a past worth cutting off.

Slow remembering

Remember how good it feels to just stop... look away from your destination from a moment and revel in where you are... to come home and slow down... to breathe and remember who you are without the rush.

Clingy

I love how stubbornly life clings in impossible places.

all that sparkles

I have always thought it was possible to love your work. Maybe not all of your job, or every minute of it. But to be a person whose eyes light up when they talk about what they do.

I have been a person who becomes earnest and intense when they talk about what they do. I have even been passionate about it. I have talked at length about how important it is to get things right, railed against the things that rile me up and shared the ragged hope that has kept me going.

Feeling a pang when hearing about someone whose "eyes lit up" when talking about her work, the same work that I do, dealing with the inner stuff of people. I commented to my colleagues that I had never felt that way about doing what I do. They shrugged and said something like "you're just not that kind of person".

Knowing that I had to get out, that keeping going would eat me up, burn me out, kick the stuffing out of me and more. But what would I do instead?

I found the answer. It was pretty obvious, in hindsight. It's been dangling from my ears and twined around my fingers and trailed throughout my history. So I'm learning how to do what I love.

These are just the beginning. And now I sparkle too.