Making Peace with my Hair

“Symbolic of life, hair bolts from our heads. Like the earth, it can be harvested, but it will rise again. We can change its color and texture when the mood strikes us, but in time it will return to its original form, just as Nature will in time turn our precisely laid-out cities into a weed-way.” 
― Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses

Every woman right now knows exactly what I'm talking about. I'm wondering if it's a blessing of being in my 30s, but I have made a deep, happy, internal peace with my hair and how it works.

Maeve was looking at my hair this week and told me it was kinda crazy. I told her that yes, my hair does have a mind of its own sometimes, but I like it that way. She looked confused, so I told her that I would never wish for my hair to be different than it is, that I love it just the way it is. She told me then that she was wishing for boy-short hair, which I told her would be fine with me, I just want her to think about it for awhile. I think she'd look dreadfully adorable in a short pixie, so we'll see what she decides.

But as for myself, this right here is it. I love my hair short, and I think my hair loves being short. It behaves better. The lack of weight means my curls can be what they are, even if Maeve says my hair looks like "crazy trees" sometimes.

I can't say that about everything about myself, although I would like to someday. There are just a few things about my body, even my personality, that I would like to snap my fingers and change, like Mary Poppins cleaning a room. But my hair? Uh-uh, baby, this is it, right here, just as it is. Just right.