As soon as I stepped inside I was reminded again that everything changes, and with an exclamation mark to boot.
“Just a trim today?” she asked like a seasoned pro who could read a situation in her little corner of the world like Sherlock Holmes.
“No – I want it cut,” I replied.
The mid to late twenties girl’s shoulders pulled back like someone had shoved them simultaneously at the same time as her brown eyes popped to circles, “All of it?” she questioned.
“Yeah, all of it. I wanna donate it, then I don’t want to use a ponytail holder anymore,” I explained.
I was a stranger in a strange town. Or at least that’s what it felt like. I hadn’t stepped foot into a place where they professionally cut hair in more than two decades… Now I have an idea of how Rumplestiltskin felt.
A lot has changed in the last twenty two or three years along with the how the supreme court views marriages… then again everything changes.
The guys salon had the stereo cranked up the 70’s disco era nightclub decibel levels and the place was decorated in black and red; red walls, black ceiling, and black and red checkerboard tiles on the floor.
The plush red leather theatre type of recliners were in two rows, the back one being up on a step like a mini-theatre. Across on the opposite wall were three Texas sized TV’s. If that weren’t enough for my mind to fathom, there was a red felt pool table between the seats and the TV’s.
The only thing missing in that hair cutting joint was a dog for me to mumble to, “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Proof that everything changes is that hair keeps growing, maybe not where we want it to, but it keeps sprouting. Due to that fact, I’ve sent a fair amount of hair to the places that make wigs for kids with cancer.
I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea of me and rush out to title a Catholic church in my namesake. I wore my hair the way I wanted as much for the fact that it was easier to pull it back into a ponytail that to run to the barber shop constantly.
I figured if that’s how I was going to live with my hair, some unfortunate child should at least get the benefit of my quirkiness.
The era for me sporting longer hair is over and probably significantly past due, but change isn’t easy. If something as trivial as changing a hairstyle can seem trying, how much more difficult to wrestle with are the significant matters in life?
Nobody likes change and yet it’s the only guarantee we have in this life. Most of us tend to obsess and stress over all matters in life as if by worrying enough could change the outcome.
I can’t begin to recollect all the times that I’ve had to be reminded that my infinitesimal will means nothing when it doesn’t align with that of my Father’s.
Most of us sweat the small stuff too often and miss the big ones that mean the most. It’s never about the soul cage dressing, it’s about the soul’s destination. And everything does change… except the One who designed all of it…