The Dreadliest Catch

Dread Update!

Let me start by saying that I just wasn’t cool enough to rep the dreads to their full potential.

It was a struggle. I knew it was going to be. I knew they were a lot of work. I knew they needed some serious love and attention if I wanted them to look tidy and tight and kempt - yes, I do believe dreads can look kempt. Alas, the vision of tight, ropy, waist-length dreads, adorned with shells and coloured twine skyrocketing my coolness level to unimaginable heights was not to be. I cut them off.

I had one dread that was two years old, and it was beautiful. It fell nicely, it was tight, it had a big ass bead on it. It was the example I knew could be achieved if I dedicated two solid years to allow the dreads to mature. Fuzzy, loopy, and I had a bunch of rogue hairs lose all over the place.  This would be my hair reality for dos anos unless I put in some serious maintenance or had serious patience. Or went blind. The issue was multiplied because I have just experienced postpartum hair loss. It’s a thing. I have thousands of fine downy hairs all over my head. New growth from the molting event that recently occurred. And believe it or not, all those new hairs don’t know they are supposed to tuck themselves nicely into dreads. As a result they just stick out everywhere. Its really attractive. Trust me.

I had honestly considered cutting them off around Christmas, but I had some encouraging people who helped me rally for a few more months.  I thought I could hold on until two years. I really did. I thought I had set my resolve. But one Sunday night, after a shower, I was lamenting the ability to scratch my whole scalp at once and as I crawled into bed with my family for some down time before we went to sleep, I voiced the unimaginable:

“Should I cut these dreads off?”

“Yes!” - my husband hates the dreads.

He patiently let me run where my hippy heart would, but he did not like the mass of snarls and scratchy ropy tresses that now graced my noggin. I mentioned when I started this journey, that I am a short haired girl. I haven’t looked like myself in almost 4 years. Neither of us thought so.

Not Me. (2016)

Me. (2006)

The hubs didn’t just immediately jump on the “hack off the dreads” band wagon. He actually questioned me first. Was this a knee jerk moment? Was this something I was going to regret doing? Was this the first moment I had thought about cutting the dreads? I appreciate that he gave me space to make my own decision here instead of pushing his anti-dread agenda.

After waffling back and forth for a few minutes, I just went and did it. One at a time I used a pair of dull scissors and literally hacked each one off. I had all kinds of longish strands that were sticking out all over. Nothing was even. It looked like a huge mess. And then I had another shower to wash all the extra shorties and loose hair out. And it felt amazing. A.MAZE.ING!

Take a minute to drink in this masterpiece.
Like a train-wreck, it is hard to look away from.

I’ve got to be honest - the dreads were just not jiving with me and my lifestyle. In fact, because I am a short haired girl at heart, I didn’t like the way the dreads looked when they were hanging down around my face. As a result I kept them up most of the time and the extra weight sticking out from the back of my head made my neck hurt. And it bumped into the headrest in my car. I had to pile them up on top of my head or take my messy dread bun out to drive. When a hairstyle starts causing one pain, it is probably time to give up on it.

Also, they weren’t working with being a mom for me. They would get in the kids’ faces, and they weren’t nice to cuddle with. Not to mention how I would sprawl them across my pillow at night. It doesn’t really create space for kids or spouses to come close and cuddle. (Not that I am opposed to the space - I am not a cuddler - but they all are, and they all need some of that physical attention from me.)

So Monday I called a hair salon to see if I could get the hack job cleaned up, and I was fit in that afternoon. And finally after years growing my hair and about 10 months of dreads, I am a short haired girl again.

I LOVE IT. I was a little worried that I wouldn’t look right - maybe I was too chubby now for short hair. But for real. I feel like a babe. I am so happy to be back to me. And my husband has been enjoying rubbing my short hair head and snuggling up closer than he has been able to since my thick hair started getting some serious length.

I talked with some of the girls I have met since moving - they only know me with long hair/dreads so this is a big change for them. Everyone has been super enthusiastic about the hair, but I was talking to a girl about how we both tend to start projects or skills or whatever and not finish them. She jokingly said that she had failed herself so many times that she didn't want to start something new. I am not looking at this as a failure. I tried something that many people won't try. It was a long term commitment - growing my hair and putting in the dreads and letting them mature as much as I could - and I did it. No one helped me. I gave it my best shot. And in the end I found out it wasn't me. That I already knew who me was in the hair department and I am back there. Do I regret the time I spent doing this thing? Not at all. It was a rad journey that I can talk about and gave me some insights I would have never gotten if I hadn't walked this road. Try things out. Even if in the end you revert back to what you knew before - it isn't actually regression. It is an experience and a stretching. And my hair might be back to "normal" now - but I KNOW more about who I am because I walked out a different image for a while.

Thus ends a narcissistic chapter of my life in hair.

Peace.

The most time you have...

A few years ago I was reading Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I was particularly struck by letter 15 when Screwtape, a deamon high in rank, explains to his nephew Wormwood the value of keeping his "patient" living either in the past or the future. It was imperative that the patient not make meaningful connection to the present as "The present is the only point at which time touches eternity. " Call me simple, but I was floored by this realization.  As a schemer,  the future is a place I had tried to inhabit, always waiting for something,  some moment,  some condition to be perfect for the living out of dreams to occur.  But I was shocked to realize I don't exist in the future or the past. I exist only at this point in time. And once I learned that, I was eager to expound on it with everyone at every opportunity. 

A short while later I was combing used book stores in my city for Jean Vanier's Becoming Human. (Listen to Massey Lectures here - buy the book here) I am a sucker for antique, thrift, and used book stores; they have a kind of allure to me, like I am getting a glimpse into something sacred. I can spend all day looking at items, furniture, books, photos, and trinkets that once belonged to someone else. It is like their lives have left indelible marks on the physical (and I'm not just talking scratches and crayon) that speaks to the inherent significance of each life, no matter the circumstance, known or unknown.  I walked into one particular bookstore which was organized in only a loose sense. As I scoured the shelves, I quickly realized I was getting nowhere fast and time was ticking by. There were places I needed to go, things that needed to be done. I inquired with the owner about the book, which he didn't have, and commented that I must come back one day to give the shelves their proper dues when I had the time. The owner replied to this sentiment with, "The most time you have is now." I smiled and made some polite dismissal as the door jingled shut behind me and I hurried on to my next commitment,  but those words rang in my head reminding me that I am not promised tomorrow and that I am only connected to eternity at the present moment in time. 

The Most Time You Have Is Now. - it is a phrase that has been an anchor for me for the past few years. A truth that rings through the noise.  A realization of the sacredness of the present moment. 

It might seem like I am stating the obvious, that this is a universal truth we are aware of from a young age. But, "The most time you have" is NOT to be confused with the catch phrase of the moment: YOLO.

I guess in their essence they say the same thing, but YOLO has been tainted with the short-sightedness of lust. When I was in high school, "You Only Live Once" was a mantra we lived by. It is not a new phenomenon.  It was an excuse to be as reckless as we liked; hang the consequences because we needed to seize every chance to fill the empty space with thrill. It was ok because we were "living each day like it was our last" and we wanted to experience everything and have "no regrets."

Don't get me wrong; I still want to squeeze every moment out of life, feel things with abandon,  live with excitement,  chase the things I'm passionate about, do the unexpected, take the road less traveled, and other cliches pertaining to living life to the fullest.  And I don't even look down on that youthful and narcissistic chant of the day: YOLO. It is part of the DNA of being a living, breathing, feeling human. And it can lead us to fulfillment as surely as it can lead us to despair. 

The difference for me between "The Most Time You Have" and "YOLO" is that one connects us to the moment to fully experience it - to relish it and acknowledge the vastness and beauty therein - and one turns our thoughts to the next experience - and robs us of the sufficiency of the juncture. 

The present moment is where real life is lived out. It is the space and place where we can truly touch eternity, where we have the opportunity to be united to connect with people, with ourselves, with God. We can miss it, too. We can miss it waiting for the next, perfect moment that never seems to show up. We can miss it reliving yesterday's moment of joy or regret. It only lasts for a moment, and there is no guarantee there will be a next moment - I have known many for whom the the next moment didn't come, and it didn't matter that they were in high school, or that they were the only surviving parent of a young girl, or that they were healthy, or that they had just given birth. 

"The most time you have" means everything. It is now, and it is the only chance we have to make a real choice. I am practicing to choose thankfulness, justice, love. I pray that every moment I am reminded of the most time I have.