A few months ago, I had reached perfection. For most of a year, I had been designing and redesigning the cutest hairstyle I had ever worn. Asymmetrical, flattering, and fun.
If you do the astrology thing, you may appreciate that Leo is my rising sign. I love a mane. Ever since I was old enough to make my own hair decisions, I have put a lot of energy and identification into my hair.
But one day, under the influence of deep introspection, I knew that it was time to cut it all off. As in bring out the clippers. The day I went in for my regular haircut, my cute and perfect 'do was amazingly cute and perfect. My stylist asked why I was there since my hair looked so, well, perfect. But Emily is a flexible, wide-open type of woman, and she didn't blink an eye when I told her I wanted her to take it all off.
I love having almost no hair. I am not completely enamored with the look, but I am madly in love with the freedom I feel from within. My mom ignored me the first time she saw me, and a man at exercise class said he thought I was a guy. But there have been a few compliments here and there. I don't really care about the opinions of others because, like I said, I have this secret and immense freedom within. I love inhabiting a hairless head. And I never thought I'd write or say those words.
Yesterday I accompanied Michael to his biannual oncology check-up (the cancer is staying pretty status quo). Before going there, I didn't think about the fact that people are seen very differently in a big oncology clinic. They can be seen as "patients." At one point, I was standing in a hallway waiting for Michael to talk to someone when a nurse going past me touched my arm and said, "Your hair looks really cool!" She was past me when she added something about "I know you didn't choose it..." Or something like that.
Oh, yeah. I forgot that I look like a woman recovering from bald chemo head. But I am undeserving. I have not paid the price for having post-chemo baldness. There are so many people who have had cancer and would trade me places because I am cancer-free (as far as we know). They would trade me places and then grow out their hair because having hair would be a sign of health, a message to cancer of goodbye and don't come back.
Once, at Christmastime, I went to the mall with a hijab covering my hair and neck. I was with a Muslim friend who, like me, is a white American. She converted to Islam years ago, and she goes through life with everything covered but her face and hands. I walked the mall in hijab because I wanted to feel how people treat women dressed that way. Everyone was kind. I don't think that's always the case, especially when the women dressed in hijab have darker skin than mine.
So far, I have been lucky. Instead of having my hair fall out from chemo, I have willingly paid to have it taken off. Instead of wearing a hijab because of cultural proclamations, I freely decided to wear it out in public. Nothing bad came about while doing these things. Even so, my experiences have been sobering. Sobering, because while wearing the hijab, for the first time in my life I felt worried about how I would be seen by the person in the next car as we waited at a stoplight. Sobering, because I doubt the RN would have touched me on the arm and complimented me if she didn't think I had cancer (I could be wrong about this - that would be nice).
We are so very much related-to through our outward appearances, while what we are is much more complex and interesting. And hidden.
Remember those advertisements for x-ray vision glasses that could be found in the back of comic magazines? I knew you wouldn't - you're too young. Anyway, wouldn't it be liberating if we could all own a pair of glasses that revealed the inner qualities of every living being, including the astounding beauty of the wearers? I'm talking about being able to see not only beyond the surface appearances of clothing and tattoos and cute, perfect hair-dos, but even deeper — past beliefs and behavior — to the place where we are more alike than not; the place of innocence, untouched by the judgments and expectations put on us by our culture.
Maybe we're already equipped with such vision. I think it comes through our presence and our hearts. I'm experimenting to see if this is true. I'll get back with you with my results.
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