Wednesday, August 10, 2011

"You aren't you without short hair"

Do you agree? Do you find that when you are stripped from something you've grown accustomed to you are not able to fully be yourself? To be comfortable around others?

I know that for me there are people who I am not comfortable with because I relate something in their gesture or attitude as not really willing to get to know me, to see past my clothes, to see past my words, and to feel who I am. Maybe these people don't realize this about themselves, or maybe the fault is in me -- I could be intimidated for some reason, or judgmental myself.

But in my mind, saying that I am not me because of the length of my hair is absurd. It's like saying "You are not you without clear skin," okay, so since it's hot and especially humid in Rexburg this summer and my forehead has a few more blemishes than usual, you're saying I must not be myself? I am me with or without that attribute. Long. Short. Bald. All of it is me. Maybe it distracts you from trying to get to know me? I am not my hair. I am me all over. You can not personify a piece of a person because we are all. I encompass my toes and my shoulder blades, the fat on my tummy. This is who I am. And I want long hair.

Sometimes you just have to grab it with both fists...

Change is not always easy. There's this part of me, a significant part, that fights against change at every moment. Changes in online social networks send me into a rage. Changes in my life, send me into a strange anxiousness coupled with lethargy and apathy.

I turned in my two-weeks notice on Friday (and by Friday I mean Tuesday). I went to the school and tried to print it out on their computers (but the file was incompatible, so I waited). While driving there, I was filled with a sinking lightness and heaviness in my toes, the area behind my bellybutton, my finger tips, and throat. I print this out, and in two weeks I will not have a job. I will not have a job, and I will not have a place to live by the end of the month. I did not mind that the file was not compatible and I went to work and could pretend that nothing was different. Regardless, I knew it was coming while I sat there. Listening to the heavy machines puncture fabric and leaving behind a row of thick thread like a scar in skin. This was not meant for me.

I knew I was turning in my two weeks notice, I had dozens of applications in four major cities. Two fall back plans. I was leaving my job. And I'm leaving this state.

I have an interview for a job in SLC next week thanks to the thoughtfulness and connections of friends. I have  five more days at a factory. I am looking at my pictures on these walls and I know they will be in a box in the matter of days, a week or two tops. I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm supposed to be doing. But I can make change happen in my life.

I can get up and go for a run tonight. Oh, I went running three days last week, and once already this week. I can do this!