A snip in a snap brings great reward

It’s been a long while, but the feeling I had after dumping a boyfriend is still with me.

Knowing that the memories and lessons would never leave, feeling nervous about the future but more than ready to slam the door and say “good riddance” to a relationship that just wasn’t working.

Then, when I closed the file on that relationship, I always did the same thing: got a haircut. It was symbolic of breaking free from the old situation and adapting to a new one. It was only hair, but it felt like so much more.

2016 had more than its fair share of life valleys, and I often felt helpless to stop things that were out of my control. I was more than ready to break up with it, but when the year changed, the woman in the mirror didn’t. She was the same old Susan with long, curly, dark blond hair, and the 2017 version looked just like the year before.

And the year before that.

And the year before that.

Truth be told, I had been trimming my own hair for a few years after a bad style finally grew out. It was me and scissors taking a little snip here, a little snip there; every couple of months I grabbed a box of dark blond color.

But no longer: I was ready to break up with my hair style, too.

Cue surge of Greatest Idea Ever. “I think I’m going to get a bob,” I told a friend.

We were talking about some women from the 1920s who had taken control of their lives and a specific hair cut was a part of that change. “I’m going to do it.”

Later I told a few more friends to further commit myself and got on the phone.

Plan A stylist had retired.

Plan B was a salon that had closed. I had no Plan C but I was mission driven: Plan F it was.

Facebook. I sent out a message to my people. I need a new stylist ASAP who can handle curly hair. Help.

Soon I had a long list of great stylists, but then my friend Kristin wrote me a private message: it was a love note about hers.

Sold.

I called and got an appointment three weeks away. It’s only hair nothing urgent. But two days later the stylist called. She’d had a cancellation. Could I come in that day?

“Sure,” I heard myself saying, “sounds great.”

Really? Great? I looked in the mirror.

It was like my hair knew its time was ending. It lay in soft curls; even the bangs were well behaved.

I had a flash of all the people I had told, but more importantly, it wasn’t a physical, vanity need, but I needed to do this for myself. I needed to take a risk and, as life risks go, this was low on the scale: A training risk.

At this point the story could go to very wrong.

While she was painting goop in my hair and wrapping it with foil, I was visited by the ghosts of Bad Haircuts Past. Thankfully, my inner flappers — the women who had grabbed the kitchen scissors and boldly chopped — shoo’d them away.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

Dry.

Fluff.

Spritz.

Done.

When I spun around and looked in the mirror it was…

…exactly what I wanted. Chin length, bouncy curls and golden, sun kissed color.

I was stunned to silence.

It’s hyperbole to say the woman who looked back at me was different than the one who walked in. But I felt different. The reward from a small risk was greater than just hair; like the women of the 1920s it was an outward symbol of inner change.

This story was originally published January 18, 2017 at 10:25 AM with the headline "A snip in a snap brings great reward."