stylin’ the hair

Alas, of what hairstyle to choose.  A seemingly innocuous question, but one which cuts at the root of our place in a conformist culture.  I currently have long hair.  In fact, very long hair.  It started growing, and, well, since I disliked getting my hair cut, and so called ‘good’ haircuts run into some serious money, I just let it grow.  Like a youth growing through adolesence, my hair went through an awkward intermediate stage, which made me look like a real goof.  I wasn’t happy about it, but you don’t mind so much if you’re already married.  But once longer, I felt almost… non-conformist.  I felt I had broken out in some subtle, yet important way.  No longer was I slavishly following the rules of society, but I was pushing the envelope.  Well, I wasn’t really, but at least it felt like I was poking back at oppression in some small way.

Fast forward a couple of years.  Those aforementioned hair, that thing of beauty which made the old man who sat behind me at church yearn for younger days, was starting to become quarrelsome.  Like a good friend that stayed over one two many days playing nintendo, it had become an annoyance.  Always in the way, and in danger of being caught in machinery, I decided I wanted it cut.  Sure, the reason was logical enough, but the end result is that I must lose my precious little icon of independance.  Like Samson, I fear that to cut will be to lose strength.  What I fear is not so much merging back into the bland mainstream, but I fear not knowing really what I want out of hair, and, by analogy, life.  Turmoil clings to these locks like week old grease, and, by the force of it’s longetivity, thrusts forward a requirement for personal introspection.  The question then becomes, “What is my life about?”, rather than what hairstyle to choose.  Once I answer that question, I can move forward, and have the guy with the icy strands on Avenue B cut my hair proper.