Freer in My Soul


I cut my younger daughter’s hair today.  I mean, cut it––short.  Like buzzed around the back and sides.  We were going a little for the look of Lucy in Friends With Boys, though it didn’t come out that way exactly.  Celeste’s hair is too curly, for one thing, and although she had originally told me she wanted a mohawk, she had retreated from going quite that far.

The funny thing was, though, that when the waist-length hair was off, and the supershort do was done, I asked her  if she felt freer, and she said, “freer in my soul.”

She had been complaining about her long hair for a good while, but still this seems very strongly worded.  As if this was the real her, and she had finally found it.  Funny thing, that, after years of her not really caring how she looked.  I found myself pondering the ways of adolescence as I went downstairs after saying goodnight to her.  It’s so interesting to see how people that age find themselves, changing almost as quickly as they did in babyhood, so that you feel you are watching an image appearing in photo paper when you drop it in developer: more and more real, and second by second you feel yourself saying, “there they are!”  And yet, second by second, they continue to become more real yet.  It’s impossible and amazing.

Always amazing.

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