Hair.
I never loved my hair. As a child my mother order it chopped into a variety of unattractive styles that varied from mullets, to mop-style. Once I was old enough to make my own aesthetic decisions, I began to imitate the heroines of my favorite novels and let my hair grow long. But the longer my hair grew, the stringier, shaggier it became. Unlike some of my friends who could sit on their hair, mine never managed to grow past elbow length, no matter how much I sang to it and brushed it like a mane. One of my best friends Shawna says that 23 and 27 (and I’ll argue 33 as well) are cosmic years. Years that bring great, often terrifying changes. It was in December of my 23 rd year, that a divine force told me to chop off my elbow length hair. So I did. My Jew curls looked adorable, and my neck oozed gratitude for not having to carry an extra 2 pounds throughout the day. I looked punky, edgy. Pe...