So many things in life are ironic and their numbers seem to grow with age. I have more hair on my body but less where I actually want it. After years of trying to appear older, I now despair over creases that no longer disappear when my expressions fade. Now that I am able to stay out until all hours of the night, I am too bored and/or tired to actually do so. And I still have acne even though I'm over 30 years old! What is up with that??
The newest (and most disturbing) irony is that, after all this time, I still am crushed by a bad review. I really thought I was past caring what people thought about me. I feel I have developed a strong enough sense of self to withstand peer pressure and let my individuality and unique personality shine through the gloom of routine conformity.
Case in point: As most of you know, I have recently changed my hair colour. Admittedly I've been dying my hair for many a year now, sporatically when gray hair started to show and regularly when my partner started to style hair. So I've toyed with various shades of brown but nothing radical until now. For some reason, when he offered to make me blonde after a haircut, my heart screamed "YEEEEES!" I want to be that popular tanned Ken-doll jock in high school that just smiled and people loved him. I want to be fun, less serious. I want to feel edgy and attractive. I want attention!
Forty-five minutes later I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror. Oh dear God what have I done? On the flip side it was strangely like I saw myself as God's creation for the first time. I had this totally different perspective of me and it was neither good nor bad, it was just me. And I was new!
I must admit my blonde ambition has been fun. I've received kudos galore and even more out-right stares of (what I hope were) admiration. The most important review of course was the one I gave myself everyday in the mirror. I spiked, flipped, combed both up and down and yes, even dabbled with a faux hawk.
With all this in mind I was more than a little surprised that the only bad reviews were from members of my immediate family. And they weren't merely bad, they were scathing to the point I felt personally attacked.
Being raised with the "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" dictum, I really have tried to be kind in my criticisms, knowing that with my verbal skills, I could be vitriolic. I never want to send out that kind of toxic energy. So why do I allow a bad review or two to penetrate me so deeply? I should be beyond caring, right? I really thought that I was.
At any rate, being blonde has been a blast but at the end of the day, it really isn't me. The real me keeps growing at the roots, pushing the lighter me out. My partner has suggested I return to those roots in preparation for my return to my Kansas roots at Christmastime. He's right as usual of course. Because, after all, I am beautiful, no matter what they say!