On that fateful day, I made a decision that has haunted me since.
I decided to cut my hair.
The result? Age-otori. (That’s Japanese for looking worse after a haircut.)
I’m not fishing for compliments. My sister has (begrudgingly) confirmed this to be true.
hair: a metaphor for life
Cutting my hair was a risk. Definitely not a life or death kind of risk. Few risks are. But as I haven’t had hair this short since I was maybe two years old, I couldn’t be sure of the outcome.
So I took the risk. I took a chance.
In life, we can’t always be guaranteed of the end result of the decisions we make. Does that mean that we shouldn’t make them? Of course not!
I’d been considering cutting my hair ever since the idea of walking the Camino de Santiago entered my mind. I thought short hair would be so much easier to take care of (lies).
Plus, what could be more minimalist than short hair?
Fast forward to December when I asked myself what I was waiting for. Why not just cut my hair now? So I did.
If I’d just cut my hair a little shorter or even up to my shoulders, I’d still of wondered what it would’ve looked like if I’d gone really short.
Sometimes you have to go all the way to find the place where you want to end up.
this too shall pass
My hair is going to grow back.
Even though it may take months for it to get to the point that I like it more, I still don’t regret cutting it.
I now have one less “what if” on my list.
Truth be told, I almost had a Jo March, Little Women, moment when she cries over selling her long, beautiful hair.
But then I thought, it’s just hair.