A Snip of Perspective

My hair was the stuff of legends. By far the thickest in my drama group and undoubtedly the most stubborn ponytail there, it was infamous for remaining poker straight through curling irons, hot rollers, and gallons of hairspray. Last May, when a sign-up sheet circulated for Locks of Love, an organization that collects hair to make into wigs for cancer victims, something clicked and I knew that my hair was meant to go. So, after years of contemplating a legitimate haircut, but chickening out at the last moment and asking for just a trim, I had a faith moment.

The actual haircut was surprisingly emotional for me. It’s fairly ridiculous to say that my hair has sentimental value to me, and I do feel guilty for feeling sad about the loss of that constant rope of comfort. Rather than spout about how wonderful it felt to donate my hair, I’ll tell the truth:

I was shocked at the tears that sprung to my eyes as I clutched the freshly cut ponytail. Holding it out in front of me and giving a fake smile for the cameras, I felt as though I was holding a limb that had just been severed. I held onto it for a few minutes while Molly, the hairdresser, smoothed the rough edges and angled my bangs. Quietly, I sat and ran my hand over the smooth, healthy, freshly shorn edges. It felt like an exceptionally fresh paintbrush or a patch of perfectly mown grass. It felt like a work of art, pure and natural, that I had cultivated, invested hundreds of hours of time into (trust me).

Giving it to someone else –perhaps two someones, considering the volume- was truly giving a part of me. It was heart-wrenching, but somehow liberating at the same time. That ponytail, grown since seventh grade, had allowed me to dig quite a rut and build quite dependence upon it. I hid behind it when embarrassed, twirled it when bored, mussed it when stressed, and attempted to curl it on special occasions. Those close to me could tell exactly what every motion that involved my hair meant, simply because of how often I performed them.

Then it got cut. Waking up the next morning, I felt the impact sink in. Yes, I can’t take back that haircut. Yes, I wish I still had enough hair to grab to hide my embarrassment. Yes, I still reach up to grab the ponytail that doesn’t exist anymore. But someone out there who doesn’t have any hair is getting a gift that could change their perspective on life. Someone out there will get a ponytail to twirl, hair to flip over their shoulder, and a tumble of curls to get in their face in the wind. If, that is, the hair stays curled for them, which I certainly hope it does. Someone out there will feel like they’re getting a missing limb replaced. And that’s an experience I’d be happy to share.