This is a mosaic aerial selfie of my head of hair. Not a real representation, I grant you, and here comes the shocking truth, neither is the colour. Oh. You knew that?
Under normal circumstances, I would be due for a hair cut (and colour) about now. It’s a thick head of hair on a big head. Come time for a cut, the waves get past a point where they refuse all pleas and considerable force to take direction. Every visit to the hairdresser and her magic thinning scissors is accompanied by a happy dance into the salon in anticipation of lightening the load.
A few years ago, I gave considerable thought to shaving my head. It felt like it would be a bold statement (of what I’m not sure), more risky than stepping out occasionally in brightly coloured socks. Unsurprisingly, the thought came to nought.
In a few weeks’ time, my hair will throw in the towel. There’s a pun there waiting to find better form, but I’ll move on. Some time before that happens, the ‘careful what you wish for‘ bare head will happen.
When it does, I will remember the words of Mary Anne Radmacher who cut off her own hair during a presentation she made last October in Georgia.
“It grows back”.
Resilience includes recognising the gifts you receive along the way, even though you don’t know they’re gifts yet.