Take a Chance on Me...

The abridged version:
I told my hairstylist one of my "New Year's Resolutions" was to let her do absolutely anything to my hair that she wanted. Any cut, any style, any color. Well, okay not quite. No baldies and no mohawks. She said "dammit!" to the mohawk. Going bald isn't even considering getting a haircut in my book, though. It's more of a cop out; hair to no hair. You can't do anything with nothing and no hair is definitely not something that can be worked with.

As for the mokawk, I'm pretty sure I'd get in a lot of trouble at work, even though all my work is done with customers over the phone. But still, I'd rather not rock the boat there any more than I do just by existing and being different. *rolls eyes*

So anyway, I went in Friday afternoon, January 2nd and said "let's do it."
There's a long explanation as to why I chose this adventure but I'm tired of retelling it so we'll skip it for now and get to the happy ending.



I literally had a crowd of people watching me the entire time, whispering and making sarcastic comments in attempt to scare me about the fate of my hair. Unfortunately for them, I love my stylist and trust her implicitly so even when I felt massive chunks of hair falling from my head I could only think "wow. I can't WAIT to see what she's doing!" Because the deal was, if I were to trust her with this, I couldn't peek or see anything until she was completely done. Surprisingly, it was a lot easier to keep my eyes closed for an hour and a half than I expected. lol
And of course, I loved the end result. However, I didn't expect quite the reaction I got from my friends.

I posted the photos on two of my other blogs and to say they were "ecstatic" would be a severe understatement. Most responded with "HOLY SHIT!" and it eventually downgraded to a string of repeated "WOW!" and eventually ending with "that's SO YOU!"

What strikes me as the most amusing is that I had nothing to do with the process or results. I thought it was hilarious that, without knowing it, my stylist, Jen, picked a shade of red almost identical to how I had my hair back in college when I lived in Arizona. some people have never seen the color on me and found it radically different, while other saw it as a bit of "return to self."

One of the latter friends made a comment that stuck with me all last night and has left me full of thought this morning.
"You're like my own personal Madonna! I love the before AND after! I love how you are always changing your look but it is always so you!"

On surface value, nothing she said is entirely significant beyond complimentary admiration. Deeper than that, though, I've noticed a commonality in my friends over the last two years commenting on the "versatility" of my physical identity. And I say "identity" rather than "appearance" because I seem to have achieved a "look" that I am apparently known for, and yet, it's a look that seems ever-evolving.

Not that this is any attempt to focus attention on me by any means. I guess part of me is still a little surprised to hear words like "inspiring" "ever-changing" and "wild" when friends talk about me. When Megan got married a week ago, she told me my hair could be whatever I wanted for the wedding and cited her reasons that "I never know what color your hair is going to be or what you will look like when I see you and that's one of the things I love about you most."

In April, I had a layover in San Fransisco and called one of my old college buddies to see if she could meet me for a while. Her only response was "Who should I look for? I never know what your hair will look like and I might walk right past you!" And of course it was funny and I've heard the same sentiment from so many other friends but after a while, it's caused me to do a bit of self reflection.

Some people are constantly changing because they want to be someone else. Some people change because they hate what they are and some people change because that's just how they were created to be.

I'm not entirely sure who I am. I am not immune to the effects of the media in a beauty-driven society but I by no means dislike my looks or what God created me to be. It would be nice to be two inches taller, have nails that don't chip so easily, a natural tan etc etc, but it would also be nice to meet the love of my life in the organic whole foods section of the Fred Meyer, share a cup of tea and find a winning lottery ticket on the way home. But But God is not a movie producer and violins don't start playing every time I daydream about my crush of the week. *rolls eyes*

For me, it lies more in that I looked exactly the same for so many years that I became both fearful of change and incapable of recognizing an opportunity to grow. Because change /should/ be growth. I spent years in high school trying to paint myself pretty, to no avail. You can paint a house fifty different colors, but that won't change the shape of the house. But that doesn't stop you from changing the landscaping, stucco to shingles, and... I have no idea where I'm trying to go with this metaphor.

Being a teenager sucks. You'll pretty much always think you're fat and ugly no matter what you look like. But eventually you realize physical appearance is only the exterior of who you are. It can become you or you can use it to show what's inside. I spent so much of my teenage years terrified of the world that I was afraid to take chances. I had panic attacks if I couldn't find the exact brand of toothpaste I was used to. Not just brand, but it had to be the specific type with the same labels and pictures on the boxes because in my inverted universe, the wrong kind of toothpaste could someday cause time paradox that could end all human existence. Or at least my own. lol

I think my only real "personal" fear left is the possibility that I will grow complacent with myself. With my gifts, my talents, my my appearance and as an artist, my desire to create. Jen is inspired through the free will I give her whenever she does my hair and I in turn am inspired to do more with my wardrobe, make up and hairstyles. Somehow this translates to inspiration to my friends.

I don't really see how I play a factor in their inspiration but what right do I have to tell someone I don't actually make a difference to them?

Yesterday I got an email from a 20 year old girl whom I've known since she was even born. She had commented on some of my pieces of artwork and some of my activism photography and in her email, said I gave her "a whisper of courage."

I cannot take credit for whatever it is she feels through my art. I've never failed to admit I didn't choose the path of photography. God grabbed me one day and said "DETOUR!! try this instead." I had no camera, I had no talent and one day, I literally woke up as a professional in the field. It would be a sin not to create the images I see in my head.
More often than not, life inspires my art. And somehow from there, my art seems to inspire others. This is a phenomenon that never ceases to amaze me. I've had friends and old coworkers call me on the phone to excitedly tell me they saw a photo in a newspaper and they instantly knew it was mine because it had my "style" and it was that style that showed the artist before they read the byline. Honestly, I couldn't ask for a greater compliment than to have my creations recognized because they reflect me first.

I suppose in a bigger picture, you could add a spiritual twist and say God's greatest compliment is to have his created people recognized as his work without them having to say "I'm a Christian." I've thought many times about God personified as an equal artist and really, the only thought that comes to mind is "seriously, what's up with the Giraffe??"
Quite possibly one of the most awkward animals God has ever created. Perhaps that leads in to why I love them so much... I relate a little too well? lol

A whisper of courage... what would that even sound like? I have no idea what my art means to her but when I read her message I immediately thought of the Jana Stanfield song "If I were Brave"

What if we're all meant to do what we secretly dream?

What would you ask, if you knew you could have anything?
Like the mighty oak sleeps, in the heart of a seed,
are there miracles in you and me?

If I were brave, I'd walk the razor's edge,
where fools and dreamers dare to tread.
I'd never lose faith, even when losing my way.
What step would I take today, if I were brave?

Particularly the first line, what if I really am supposed to live out my dreams? What if I'm meant to be as happy as I seek, to create as much beauty as I attempt to make and to love as many people as I'm afraid to admit carry weight in my heart?

What would happen if we said everything we truly felt and attempted everything we were afraid of failing? I bet we could flip this world on its head. :)

Until then, I suppose the most I can do is keep screaming my dreams through the lens of a camera and hoping people still hear me. A man in a grocery store once told me that my hair was my beauty and to cut it would destroy the best of what I am.

But he was wrong. My beauty comes from within. My face is only a momentary snapshot of million possibilities I can be.