I Cut My Own Hair: A COVID Drama in Three Acts
I gave in.
My massive, tangled, spaghetti-noodle-nest of hair could not wait any longer for a trim. COVID-19 case counts are on a rapid rise where I live, and while I’ll own up to a certain level of vanity, a trip to the salon isn’t worth the risk. I considered asking a family member to wield the shears, but couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t stoop to covering thier toilet seat with super glue if the cut had gone awry. (Kinda vain and maybe a wee bit petty.)
THE ONLY REALISTIC OPTION WAS TO CUT MY OWN HAIR.
So here I present my latest one-woman play, Cutting Cutting My Own Hair During COVID: A Drama in Three Acts.
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ACT I: Spend two hours watching YouTube tutorials. Convince myself to go for it. Go for it. Fail. Go for it again. Fail again. Go for it eight more times and fail epppppppicccally.
ACT II: Swear. A LOT. Make a mental list of suspects who may have put a hex on my scissors. Consider wearing a headscarf until Big Rona packs her shit and leaves. Almost cry looking at my hair—which somehow now resembles a palm tree. Breathe. Remind myself it's hair and it'll grow back.
ACT III: Try. One. More. Time. Give myself the same haircut as Jennifer Aniston in the photo I've taken to the salon five times and never left with. Stare, wonder, marvel. Take a motherf*cking bow.
The end.
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Thanksgiving week is a time when we consider what we’re grateful for. Also, for crafting our plans for not leaving the house on Black Friday—the people-iest day of the year.
You might think the moral of my story is that I’m grateful for a good haircut (I am). But that’s not the part I’m focusing on. What I’m grateful for is the part where I tried it. More accurately, I’m grateful for what that means about the kind of person I am.
It’s taken me a lifetime, but I’ve turned into one of those people who does things. Who tries. Who acts. Who boldly goes.
INTROVERTS ARE BORN OBSERVERS.
Getting into action can sometimes be extraordinarily difficult. It has often been for me. Yet I'm seldom disappointed when I do. Even when the thing I'm acting on crashes and burns like a putrid yam's bid for the presidency (Couldn't resist. Not sorry.)
When I try something and it fails, I look at why and ask what I need to tweak for next time. Or I learn that I don’t want a next time at all. When I try something and it succeeds, I have valuable new knowledge and living proof that I can do a hard thing. When I don't try, I never know any of this. And knowing stuff is my drug of choice.
Unforeseen circumstances and new challenges are opportunities to discover just how ballsy we can be. They reveal talents and strength we didn’t know we have.
THEN WE CAN (AND SHOULD) MOON OVER HOW BADASS WE ARE FOR A WHILE.
If I would have stopped at the end of Act II and resigned myself to the foliage-do, I never would have ended at the Jen-do. The Jen-do wasn't even what I was shooting for. It was a byproduct of not giving up when things looked grim. (Plus, think of all the wine I can buy with the money I'll save by not going to the salon!)
There is beauty in stepping up when we're unsure of the outcome. When the only way to know if we can do something is to do it.
THAT’S WHAT I’M THANKFUL FOR.
You've heard this idea before. I know you understand the truth of it. But sometimes it takes hearing it in the right way at the right time for something to stop being a platitude and become a fire under our ass. If the epic saga of an almost-terrible haircut can light that match, consider me tickled pink!
If you’re looking to get into action but can’t gain traction, keep an eye on your inbox. I’ve got a Black Friday special for you! No need to leave your house. You don’t even have to put on pants! Win/win.