That Little Notebook’s Weblog

For the first time in five years, my hair is shoulder length again, even though I have always considered myself a “long hair girl.” Something about long hair makes me proud–after all, most people’s hair isn’t as long as mine gets to be. But this post is meant to be much more than just a vain account of my locks (what’s left of them).

A couple weeks ago in Sociology we were talking about Dramaturgy, which is basically a viewpoint in which everyday interactions are actually intricate maneuverings on the part of the people–or actors–involved. I want to feel a certain way in certain surroundings in order to believe I am accepted or safe. Dramaturgy can be a great thing, but if we are representing ourselves below our potential, then it is impossible to be everything God has for us. At church I admit to falling into a behavioral rut. Not only did I confine myself to many introvert behaviors when I wanted to be involved, but I felt an unhealthy responsibility for anything “wrong” or “unsuccessful” in the youth group. As part of the leadership team, I over-analyzed my actions and worried about my decisions.

Similarly, I prized the fact that I had long hair–believing in part that it made me who I was–even while I hated that I did not know what to do with it. Both the stereotype I pushed myself into at church and my hair were a voluntary ball-and-chain, or a necessary evil, and it didn’t occur to me that I should or even could change anything. Now, if you really know me, then it has probably become apparent to you that I neither like change, nor risk-taking. I play it safe. I play life safe. When my Driver’s Ed class kept me from Salt leadership meetings for a month, I saw it as an unbearable affliction. Being present at the meetings and behaving a certain way was not just a part of my schedule, it was a great part of who I was as a person. That’s how I saw it anyway.

When our Driver’s Ed instructor released us for our break the second day of class, I stepped outside and began heading towards McDonald’s with some other students. I became aware of my freedom and it frightened me. I could choose between several different places to eat, and I could pay for it myself. I could sit in the front, middle, or back rows, and regardless of what I chose, these people really were not going to think any more or less of me for it. The same holds true for Salt, so why had I stressed over maintaing a perfect balance of monotonous behaviors? As I left McDonalds, food in hand, I admit to being so overwhelmed that I shed a few tears. I could do anything, even run away from home rather than return to class… Why do I choose to do the things I do?

As August passed and Driver’s Ed was winding down, I didn’t think much of that incident. After all, school had started and I had a new little problem. My head itched. Like crazy. While I thought it was just an uprising of some gosh-darn awful dandruff, it turned out to be lice. Joy. After spending two hours combing for little bugs, I began to really wonder why I bothered keeping my hair long when it bugged my so much–no pun intended. Thus, I made the decision to chop it off the next day and donate it to Locks of Love. That was Friday. On Saturday I left with my cousins to volunteer at a camp in the Colorado Mountains. Ironically, their last name is Horne and the camp is Horn Creek. I spent a week in completely new surroundings with my completely new short hair, just enjoying life while serving and playing dodgeball. During this time I got to talk with God and think a little bit about what I had been doing with both my hair and my life.

Now that I’m back into the groove of how things used to be I’ve begun to stress less over the little things. And though I may not have made any drastic changes in how I behave I’m not trying to conform to some foolish standard of behavior and thought that I had previously lived by. I want to help others, and I can do so much more when reaching out to them isn’t compromising my self-image. I may be an introvert, but I can speak up when I have something to say. And I may have best friends, but I can talk with anyone who needs a friend. Things should make me uncomfortable, because that is a reminder that there is another way to live than what I have planned. My hair cut is now a symbol of how I hope to let things other than my looks and patterns of behavior define me. I can forget my hair because I don’t have to worry about it, and instead look at someone else’s. It’s time to focus on others, rather than myself.

It may seem that there are other verses more appropriate for this post, but this is the one that has been on my heart:

Ephesians 5:1-2 “Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”