I walked into the hair salon a couple of weeks ago and was greeted by the smile of my sweet and talented stylist. I sat down in front of the mirror and she lifted the cape and placed it around my neck and asked the question she asks me every four weeks.

What are we doing today?

I responded like I’ve responded nearly every four weeks before that, I think I want to grow my hair out, I told her. I miss my ponytail.

My ever patient stylist has grown accustomed to this conversation. She follows it up with a few questions and we work through the whys and if’s my short locks are going to grow long.

*******

My stylist has been cutting my hair for a couple of years now. When I found her my hair was a bit longer, but still short. My stylist didn’t know me when my locks were long. When my blonde hair reached halfway down my back. She didn’t know me when my hair did the thing that I needed it to do. . . when my hair gave me something to hide behind.

*******

I think it was around the time Chanelle was born when I first cut my long hair. After almost two years with Charlie and a baby on the way, some of the hair had to go. I can’t remember exactly, but I think that cut took my hair from the middle of my back up to my shoulders. Not long after Chanelle was born, a few more inches, just above the shoulders. The addition of little Meadow brought about the subtraction of time and finally, my first pixie cut.

My hair has been short ever since.

*******

In the couple of years my stylist has been cutting my hair, I get stopped weekly by a strangers with comments like, I love your hair! Or You have great hair. Or, who cuts your hair?! (Yes, I love my stylist-friend) Or,  I wish I could pull that hair off. I remember a time when a woman looked at Chanelle and said, your Mom has really cool hair–not many women can pull that off.

When the compliments come, I smile politely and say a quick thank you as I feel my cheeks grow red.

*******
My stylist and I sat in front of the mirror and talked about the why’s of letting my hair grow out. I ticked off my usual points, fewer visits to the salon, the ponytail, less product, a change, did I mention the ponytail?

After my usual points had been made I cut to the chase. . . In reality, I told her, this cut is really great. It’s trendy. It’s edgy. It’s cool. I looked at her in the mirror as she listened to my points, but really, I told her, my hair is far cooler than I am. The hair does not match me. 

She smiled at me and responded the way most kind souls would respond, you’re as cool as your hair, she told me. I think the hair fits you perfectly.

*******
The thing is, I am totally cool with not being cool or edgy or trendy. I’m not afraid to admit it or embrace it. I’m almost 40. Let’s face it, my years of cool are passed. (Let me be clear, I’ve never really been cool.)  I remember when I was young and my Dad started losing his hair. Since my parents raised kind and respectable kids, we were sure to make fun of the of the way my Dad’s scalp seemed to be pushing through his hair. (Sorry, Dad.)  I’ll never forget his response to our ridicule, though. When a comment about his hair (or lack thereof) was made, my dad would pull off the baseball cap he was wearing and look us straight in the eye. He would tilt his head down ever so slightly so we could clearly see the round, hairless spot on the top of his head, and he would say, I make this look cool.

It was his joke, of course. We all laughed. And yet–there was no comeback from us. What could we say to someone who so fully accepted where he was?

*******
I sat in front of the mirror as my stylist snipped, snipped and buzzed, buzzed in the same way she has for years. I didn’t make a decision that day and, truth be told, the consensus of those closest to me believe I won’t ever have the patience to actually grow my hair out again anyway. I’m still left wondering if it’s okay to have hair that doesn’t exactly match how I feel. Does the inside actually have to match the outside? Does hair really matter that much?

I’m not really sure about any of it. I mean, lets be real, it is only hair. But let’s be really, real, our hair is so much a part of us, isn’t it?

I left my stylist that day and agreed that I would continue to think about it. I want you to feel good, she told me, it’s you’re hair, I want you to be happy with it.

*******
The next day, I walked up to the the receptionist desk after an appointment. As I was waiting to check out the receptionist looked up at me, I really like your hair, she said, I wish I could pull that off. I smiled and thanked her and felt warmth grow on my cheeks as I turned to walk toward the door.

As I drove toward home and thought about it all–the hair, being cool, the ponytail, the inside, the outside–I wondered if I’ve been missing the whole point. Maybe cool isn’s what we wear or how we look or how we wear our hair or makeup or keep up on trends or anything that can even be defined in narrow terms. Maybe cool is simply embracing ourselves–short hair, long hair, or no hair at all–exactly as we are, right here, right now.

*******

As it turns out, my Dad was far cooler than I ever knew.