Terrified and Free

"And I'm in love
And I'm terrified
For the first time and the last time
In my only life

And this could be good
It's already better than that
And nothing's worse
Than knowing you're holding back"

 - Terrified, by Katharine McPhee

 

"If you had to, which would you chose: to be blind or to be deaf?"
I've discussed this question with friends and siblings before. My answer is always the same: "Blind. Because I can't imagine living without music."

It would be painful, of course, to never again see the beauty in the world, yet I also wonder what it'd be like to not see the standards for beauty which are presented in magazines, movies, and runways. Sometimes I know that I put too much stock into appearances. Truth be told, I never really think I'm thin enough or pretty enough. Like I'm reaching for something which is always just beyond my fingers. I know it's crazy. There is no magic "enough", no formula which aligns with some perfect standard. Ads for various products - makeup, fitness, clothing, brands, physical adjustments through surgery - breed discontentment. It can be a daily fight.


Recently I cut my hair, drastically. I wanted a change and thought about dying it, when I decided instead to donate it and get a pixie cut. If I cut off at least 10 inches it would be eligible for Locks Of Love. Within a week I had decided, found photos of styles I liked, and went to a salon to have it cut. In that time I felt excited and extremely nervous. More than once I thought, "I love my hair, I'll just leave it, I don't need to do anything to it." Yet in the end I went through with it for several reasons. One, because donating it would be a lovely thing, and every time I thought of my Grandmother and friend Amy dying of cancer, my resolve solidified. Two, because this year has seen some difficult times, some hard changes, and I needed to create a change within my control. Three, because it fell within my desire to do things which scare me.

The day after I cut my hair, I sobbed and sobbed. I wanted nothing more than for it to grow back as quickly as possible. I looked in the mirror and saw my brothers instead of myself. I had already been feeling somewhat fragile for various reasons, and the loss of my long hair left me feeling vulnerable. I looked at the 12-inch braid which had been lopped off, weighty in my hands, and felt disconnected. Friends who complimented the new look helped, though I still felt strange.

It wasn't until a week later that I started to really be okay with it and like it. I had read interviews with a couple of movie stars who had gotten pixie cuts say how freeing it was to have short hair, so I hoped for that feeling to come to me. That morning I left the house wearing a dress and wedges. I did my makeup a little bolder than usual, trying to highlight my feminine features. As I walked down the street, the wind caught at my dress and ruffled my hair and I felt pretty. I felt confident: a girl who can cut off her hair and can still reach towards elegance. Confidence can be highly attractive, I've always thought. Not arrogance, but simply the air that the way in which you present yourself to the world is worthwhile.

(Of course, maybe this backfired on me, because when I got in a taxi later that morning the driver was especially chatty, asking many questions about where I'm from and the work I do. When he asked if I was single I replied that I had a boyfriend. Not the first time I've invented a significant other to shut down a stranger.)

My hair will grow back. Yet finally, I think I like it how it is right now. I always want to be open to doing things which scare me. Sky diving, learning a new language, moving to another country, getting a tattoo, submitting short stories and enduring the possible rejections, being vulnerable and authentic with people, and getting a completely different haircut. (And besides, aren't these things small and laughably manageable compared to having cancer? Oh my heart.) Someday, I hope that list will include committing to the love of my life, becoming a mom, buying a house, and all those wonderfully normal events which can change one's life permanently, terrifyingly, and beautifully. May we be terrified at times in order to live more fully. May we choose what I cannot see. May we try and hope to be ... enough. May we believe it.