growing pains

I’m going to take a swim in the shallow end today with a subject that is near and dear to just about every woman out there: hair.

I’m in the process of growing my hair out right now from a really short bob, which is always a trial. Especially right now because it’s in that awful in-between phase where it’s too short to pull back but too long to beat into submission with my limited styling skills.

But this is something I do every two years or so. Grow it out long after cutting it really short. Normally it’s for an event like a wedding or something where it’s customary to have long hair to put up in an elaborate updo. Then as soon as my obligation is over, the hair goes.

This time I’m growing it out because I want to donate my hair. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I just think it’s a worthy cause and, really, it doesn’t cost me anything, except frustration and what’s a little bit more of that in my life.

See, I like my hair short. Very short. Probably because for most of my life it was very, very long. Down-to-my-knees long. As I got older, it gradually got shorter. First, up to my waist. Then up to my bra strap. Then my shoulders. But no shorter, until one time I went to a new stylist and told her to do whatever she wanted -- which you should never do unless you truly mean it. I got a little nervous when she grabbed the clippers and buzzed the back of my head, but it turned out good and it released me from any fears I had about having short hair.

But I’m fortunate. My hair grows fast and it’s thick. There are a lot of people who aren’t as lucky. Women going through chemotherapy, children suffering from alopecia, this list is endless.

So that’s what I’m working for now, and knowing that I might be able to help someone keeps me going through the awkward growing-out phase when it’s all I can do to keep from hacking it all off again.

Because for me, it’s just hair. For someone else, it’s a chance to feel better about life.