At the beginning of the summer, I went a little nuts. With two small children, I was facing an increasingly challenging morning routine, and my beyond-shoulder-length hair was just getting the better of me. So, I cut it off. All of it. Well, not technically all of it, although to hear my husband tell it, I may as well have come home with a shaved head. But, I went from somewhere in the neigborhood of 10 inches to about 2, from beyond-the-shoulder to above-the-ear, just a smidge shy of "pixie." Oh, and I dyed it too. Platinum. As in "Gwen Stefani has nothing on me" blonde. So, it was a bit of a change.
Most of the women in my life, if they get past the "WOW" moment, have commented thusly: "You are so brave. I could never do something so radical." Brave? Seriously? Uh, no.
"Brave" are the women who are battling cancer, losing their hair to the combination of disease, chemotherapy, and radiation. Some wear wigs, others scarves or hats, and a very few of the truly brave sport their newly-balded pates like hard-won battle scars, defying the laws of fashion because they have earned the right to do so.
"Courageous" are the women who cover - or uncover - their hair, over the religious and/or political objections of their faiths, countries, or menfolk. They risk scorn, discrimination, ridicule, and even punishment, sometimes as severe as it comes. Their hair is not just a frivolous female attribute to be shorn and shaped at whim; it's a privilege, a hard-fought right, and a symbol of basic human freedom.
What I did was neither "brave" nor "courageous," it was just silly. Sillyness has its place, mind you, and don't mistake the adjective for an apology - I'm not sorry I did it, and I'm glad to be among those with the freedom to do as I please with my hair (well, even my husband has limits). But let's keep it in perspective, folks. It helped make my life easier, not harder - and that's the difference between "courage" and...well, a "wild hair."
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