Aja and the Acceptance

If you've met me, remember me from high school, or seen any pictures of me, you know I am not a fashion plate nor am I a glamour girl.  I almost never wear makeup, I blow dry my hair for special occasions only (if I have time), and my manner of dress is not what most would consider trendy (or, on some days, flattering).  Through the years, though, I have tried just about every hair style I could, from a wicked pixie cut my junior year of high school to long, straight locks right before our wedding, and everything shy of a mullet in between.  When I have an itch to cut my hair, it usually results in a major change, usually cringe-worthy, and rarely well-thought out.  I don't know why I always gravitate towards new haircuts when I am searching for something new, but that's me, I guess.

Anyhow, the itch came up the other day just as Mollie was using my hair as both a leash and a rope swing.  I looked in the mirror and saw a rat's nest atop my head, dangling locks of semi-wavy hair dusting about my shoulders, and I began to long for something new.  Something better than what I had.  I envisioned a short haircut, or maybe chin-length, who knows?  The point is, and most close to me agreed, what I had was not working.

Which is what I told Aja (pronounced "Asia"), the hair stylist I went to see about my mop.  I liked Aja immediately; from the mess of curls atop her head to her effortless style and demeanor, she looked the part of the hip hairstylist I needed to fix my hair issues.  I was excited to have fashionable, style-laden hands ready to sculpt my coif, and tried very hard to control my glee as we walked back to her station.  I did not expect what happened next.

"I just LOVE your hair!" Aja proclaimed.

Huh?  What did she just say?

"Really, it's awesome.  What do you want to do with it?"

"Well, it just feels so messy all the time.  My young daughter likes to use it as a leash/swing and ends up pulling out a lot of it.  And it's just ... it just doesn't look right.  It isn't working for me," I replied.

Aja smiled knowingly, and spent the next hour or so convincing me that my hair was awesome just as it was.  Yes, she reshaped it and added some gradual layers, told me about some new hair products to try, and cringed when I told her what shampoo I used (Suave, thank you very much).  But what she taught me about my hair was even more amazing.

For certain, most days it will be a little wonky in one way or another; I am not one of those blessed with consistent hair.  But rather than shape it into something it isn't - a perfectly smooth, sleek coif, impervious to all humidity and weather conditions - I should embrace the wave, embrace the imperfect.  She taught me that I do indeed have wash-and-wear hair; it's just not perfect.  And that's okay.  If I go into the day knowing and accepting that my hair won't be perfect, I can love it for what it is.  It is beachy waves tousled about, ready to fly in the breeze or entertain my children.  If I have the time and inclination, I can blow it dry - either diffusing my waves or using a round brush to straighten it out.  I have versatility at my fingertips.  But the best part of it is that I can just let it be, and it will be okay.  It will be me.

So, though I've had several people say, "What did she do, exactly?" I can look in the mirror and see exactly what she did.  The subtle layers, the curl encouragement if you will, are there, but more importantly I see the smile on my face when I know that what I've got is just perfect for me.