You know, sometimes it is too much to ask for things to hold together. Let's take my hair again, for example. I know, I'm clear that hair isn't as important as writing a novel , the economy, or the world situation, but it can be a metaphor. If your hair isn't right, then things are amiss.
Take this man at the gym before we go on to me. He's a good looking, very fit man in his sixties, and yet, he has the Bozo combover thing happening. The long swirl from the back of his head twirled into a mat of hair that sits on his scalp. Then there are the sides that mimic our pal Bozo. Long and puffy. I suppose the theory is if hair grows somewhere on the head, grow it long.
He could so go the Ed Harris route, but he's clinging onto the past, of the time when he actually had a full head of hair. He still has a full head, the hair is just coming from part of it.
Me? I'm clinging to the past, too. Back in the day of the bright blonde hair (you know, back when I was five), it was soft and full and all one color. Now because of my impatience, shoddy work, and fine hair, I have red, blonde, and light brown hair (with some gray) that is frizzing up into a puff. I look like the hair color wheel, the one you study to decide your hair dye color but all of them are on my head. Today, I have an emergency triage appointment at 8.30, and lord knows what I will look like when I emerge from the salon.
So what's the deal? Should Bozo dude and I go natural? He'll be Ed Harris and I will be . . . will be? What woman will I be? So few of us go gently into that good night of our gray. I have about twelve gray hairs, but it's just going to get worse. I should have Nathan shave my head and then let it all grow in the way it wants to. I would be proclaiming my truth with every moment of baldness, stubbly brown and gray, and then wild whirl of puff hairdo.
Honesty. We aren't who we are, really, at least on the outside. We try to show you who we once were or who we want to be, but really, we are just people dealing with genetic issues and age. We mummify ourselves into the version of ourselves we want to show the world. We beat back the ravages of time with chemicals, surgery, and costly facial peels. And then what? We get older anyway.
Look, it's nice to look at a beautifully coiffed human being. We like the shiny image of people and of everything. But my eyes have been trained by a lie, the one that tells us to present who we can't be to the world. If we all made the big truth makeover at once, I think we'd be aghast and avert our eyes while walking down the sidewalk and looking in the mirror. But then we'd get used to it. Then we'd see what we all really looked like bald and wrinkly and splotched with years of sun. We'd see ourselves and the other person true and clear, and ,most importantly, we wouldn't have to go to the hair stylist ever, ever again.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org