It never fails...once I get ahold of these Highly refined cutting tools, I feel this undeniable rush of exhilaration...an excitement for the changes I am about to endure.
However, this time it was different. It wasn't like when I was 16 years old and making social statements by changing my hair cut and color with every moon cycle. Although, admittedly still howling at the full moon, I am not interested in challenging the social norm anymore.
As I gripped the scissors, I was surprised to find myself drifting into this, all too familiar, calming trance state of mind. Slowly sliding the razor's edge against each bundle of hair, I began to trim back the dead lengths. Receiving some sort of seemingly twisted enjoyment, I listened to the blade slice through the fine strands as I sculpt the jagged edges of the growing mass atop my head.
Initially, the finished result left me quite satisfied. I had cute new bangs and my head felt about 30 lbs lighter. Yet, for whatever reason, this dramatic change didn't thrill me like it used to. Instead I was strangely feeling slightly robbed. Stripped of my progress and hard work, from my years of dedication and discipline. My lovely long locks that had become such a defining characteristic for me in the past five years was now chopped into tiny bits...and I was the only one responsible to blame for this catastrophe. There it was, looking so pathetic, and spread chaotically in a messy heap on my bathroom floor.
I gave it one more good glance, inhaled...exhaled... then I swept it up and tossed my Vanity into the trash.
Without even looking into the mirror, I smiled and walked away.
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