I wish I could say I started
growing my hair long because it symbolized my rejection of societal demands for
men (clean cut, clean shaven) or that it somehow connected to a new found
religious belief (Rastafarianism). The truth is that for me it was all about
convenience. In the fall of 2001 I was headed away to Syracuse University, a 5-hour
car ride (8 hours by Greyhound bus which was how I most often travelled) from
Baltimore. I had cornrows in high school and being away from home meant that I
would have to find some new fine young lady (ok, really it was my mom) to do my
hair. Unsure about my surroundings and my ability to make friends quickly
enough to find someone to do my hair, I decided I would lock my hair before I
left. I could wash and re-twist them on my own and when I came home I could get
them maintained for pretty cheap.
While the
beginnings on my hair journey were simplistic, my 12-year lock journey was far
from it. My hair became in some ways my closest companion. Tried and true,
through rain, beach trips, snowy winters and blazing hot summer days; my hair
was there through it all. Many of the most significant moments of my emergence
into adulthood involved my hair in some way. From the birth of my children, to
beginning my career, to my wedding, to my father’s passing, my hair served to
provide a sense of comfort and familiarity. In many ways it symbolized me:
simplistic and laid back but tough and rugged (ok, maybe not so rugged) and
enduring. I take pride in being intelligent but also not taking myself too
seriously. My hair represented that too. And beyond those things, it sounds
silly to say but my hair brought me a confidence that I had lacked as a young
man. With it I felt powerful and important. When you feel that way, other people take
notice and I am convinced that some doors opened in my life, in some small part
due to the confidence brought forth from having my locks.
So then why
cut it? Again I wish I had some amazing
revelation to make. Something about a journey or a new moment in time. But the
truth is, it was just time. I had always semi-joked that I would cut my hair at
30. I would say “I don't want to be the old guy whose balding but still holding
on to those 3 locks in the back of his head!”. And while that’s true, as I grow
closer to 30 I’m far from that old guy. I’m in the best physical shape of my life
(knock on wood) and with the love and laughter shared everyday in my home, I
feel younger at heart than I ever have before. But the hair had just become
more troublesome than I had the patience for. My desire to sit and get them washed and
twisted for an hour or two at a time (yes, with hair that long and heavy, it
often took that long) eroded. As my kids get older and even more active, I
hated the silly inconvenience of having to tie my hair just to be able to play
around with them. What had originally been simplistic and convenient had become
cumbersome and interfering. And so I knew that the time had come. I stood in
front of the bathroom mirror, scissors in hand, expecting to feel remorse or
regret but instead as I took the first snip, I felt relief and rebirth. Each
cut became easier and easier instead of harder and harder and I knew that I had
made the right decision for me. (Good thing I felt that way. It would have been
really hard to stop cutting after like two locks were off, feel regret and then
try and glue those suckers back on my head!)
As much as I loved what my hair represented, I realized that I am who I
am regardless of what my hair looks like. And while I’ll always have the
memories and pictures of all of those wonderful experiences with my hair, it
was those experiences, not my hair that helped to shape me into the man I am
today. It is those experiences that will live on with me and continue to shape
how I see the world, interact with it and try to shape it more positively in
the future. And I can do those things with or without my locks. As India Arie famously once said, “I am not
my hair!” So without further ado, I introduce to you…my new ‘do!
