The chop

Sat down in a chair at a hair salon earlier this week. When I sat down my hair tumbled half way down my back and I left with it cut just beneath my cheekbones.  I didn't, and have yet, to cry afterwards.

Don't get me wrong. I loved my long hair. "It" was very important to me.  I'd style it, condition it, curl it, straighten it, and make sure it shone.  I'd carefully trim its frayed ends and make sure it wore a hat.  I'd spent years watching "it" grow. Nevertheless, on Tuesday it got chopped.  I grinned as the hairdresser cut away my long locks and loved seeing it fall to the floor.

It dawned on me that so much thought goes towards our hair. It got me thinking about how much attention we give hair and how much effort we put into its maintenance.    Hair is a crucial element in how we present and express ourselves. This seems to be true across the world and throughout history.

With long hair I was Brynhild the Shieldmaiden .  With short hair I am Amelie Poulain and my grandmothers and their sisters in the 1940s. Without hair I'd still be all these women. Whatever fun I have with my appearance I am not my hairstyle.

All in all I'm happy with my new haircut and know that women and their hair are fabulous, but it is the women - rather than their hair - who make the stories and perpetuate awesomeness. (You had it right all along Mum!)