I have decided to grow my hair back.
I’ve been shaving it about once a fortnight for two years since the World’s Greatest Shave in 2012 and, although I still really like having a shaved head for many reasons, I feel like it’s time to move on. Also, I’ve had multiple dreams where I’ve had hair again, so that’s a sign, right?
But man-oh-man am I feeling some feelings about the prospect of growing my hair back!
Oddly, growing my hair back feels a bit like I’m losing something – losing a part of the identity I’ve forged over the last two years.
A durdlin learnt to hold her shaved head high when she lost her job; when she was unemployed and went to interview after wretched interview; when little kids told her she looked like a boy; when other women looked at her askance; when she was nervous and had nothing to hide behind, nothing to fiddle with.
When people stared at me in the street I practiced meeting their gaze and standing a little taller instead of trying to shrink into my shoes. Having no hair by choice forced me into not caring about what other people think of the way I look. Having no hair has made me even more me than I was before. It accented my durdlinness – my durdliciousness – my durdlinity.
And, of course, when I blurted all this out to burfit last weekend he calmly reminded me that if it all got too much, there would always be a very quick, easy solution.