Letting Go
As I traveled back home after another three-month stay in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I felt an inexplicable urge to cut my hair. Not the usual trim though. This time, I craved a radical change.
Within the week, I sat on the chair before my hair stylist’s expansive mirror. Shasta stood behind me, a lock of my hair in one hand, scissors poised in the other. "We're about to cut off quite a bit here," she said. “You may want to take a deep breath and think of something you want to let go of”. The name of a man materialized in my mind’s eye. I inhaled as if I was preparing to plunge underwater, then exhaled slowly, expelling each letter of his name as I felt the sharp blades slice through my curls.. “Take another breath, we’re going to do the other side now. Think of another thing you want to let go off.” I repeated the process, exactly the same, to make sure I truly let it all go. It felt like an instant full-body cleanse.
Two hours of pampering later, I caught Shasta's final appraising glance and knew we were finished. She turned my chair around and offered me a hand mirror to look at her work from every angle. “How do you like it?” she asked, with her joyful, spreading smile. “You've done an incredible job," I replied, immersed in her warmth.
The truth is, I did not like it. I appreciated the cut itself, admiring it as I would a beautifully executed painting. But I didn’t like what I saw on the painting: me with short hair. And yet, I felt incredibly relaxed. I actually didn’t care how I looked. I loved how I felt: lighter, unburdened. my back, shoulders and neck were free of the weight I had been carrying. My back, shoulders, and neck reveled in their newfound freedom. It took a minute to adjust to having these parts of my body fully exposed, out in plain sight for everyone to see. Then, as if caught in a whirlwind, I felt an overwhelming impulse to shake my head wildly in all directions, like an ecstatic dancer. I was free. I walked out of the salon utterly unimpressed with how I looked, AND feeling like a million bucks.
A few days after, as I was coming out of the library, an older gentleman crossed my path and stopped in his course to tell me how beautiful I was. I smiled, allowed for the compliment to reach my heart and for him to mirror back to me how I looked. In his eyes, I was beautiful.
It's similar to tending an inner garden; eventually, it blossoms outward. Externally, my hair is now growing at a rapid pace and extraordinary vitality, much like pruned vines springing back with renewed vigor. I feel a rekindled passion for my work, and a rich creativity seems to flow from my mind, heart, and body. This cultivation of my inner landscape is attracting fresh ideas, perspectives, and people, all contributing to my current state of beauty. For me, beauty has become the art of nurturing this inner garden.