I haven’t been feeling like my bubbly self lately. I changed a lot over the past year–many ends, and even more beginnings. Life has a funny way of working out though, even when I thought I was being completely taken over, much like the dark roots that ruin my dye job every month. I still find this past year to be an over-tangled string of wires, connecting every major moment and challenge in a swift electric current. It’s not regretful at all, but interesting in how everything in life is connected. And why does hair color matter so much? Every shade is connected with an emotion and a state of being which is basically how personalities are created. Trust me, I know all about 50 shades of hair.
I took a completely new direction and started selling furniture and mattresses back in February. Imagine that, an English graduate with a minor in business, a passion for writing and an intense background in banking spending over eight months explaining the difference between microfiber and chenille fabric. I was good at it, just like anything else I grew an interest in, but it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t for me.
In my exciting new job where I met my cosmic sister, I also added some weird facts to my vocabulary: Do you know we spend 1/3 of our lives in bed? Oh, and for all of you back sleepers, try keeping your shoulders on your pillow at night. You can thank me later!
I started to give up on that commissioned atmosphere and applied back to my old bank, hoping they would believe in me the way they had from 2008 to 2014. They did. I made the switch and landed where I felt most comfortable. But, before I jumped from commish to salary, I met someone. I didn’t know what to expect, but he turned out to be the biggest purpose for my smile these past four months. I hope he knows it.
I picked up where I left off at the bank with one issue: my hair. After being a blonde for roughly three years, I made a mistake and stained my hair blue and green.
Side note: it doesn’t wash out…or bleach out for that matter.
I was so happy to be back where I belonged that I had forgotten about the sea foam shades protruding out from my ponytail. After many trips to Sally’s, visits to the hairdresser, and stress over having green hair on my interview, I had finally reached a slightly muddy-grayish-brown that was good enough for meeting with my old boss.
The only thing was, I felt like total poop, pun intended!
I got the job but had to fix the disgusting dye job. I dabbled with every shade of color imaginable and it pissed me off that I wasn’t blonde anymore. There I was, in my new/old position with my “soccer mom shag.” And the more I complained or hinted at going back to blonde, the more horrifying “bleaching bald” stories surrounded me. I hate starting a new job without a new look or even a slightly refreshing adjustment, and this murky nest was killing my vibe.
Plus, I felt like I wasn’t who I was anymore. Does that make any sense? All I knew of myself for the past three years was the confident, blonde writer with a bomb-ass personality. I needed that back. I was drowning in the oil spill that leaked over my head.
Somehow, I figured going red would help while I kept my hair from falling out. (I had to wait for the courage to pour bleach on my head again.)
The red did cancel out most of those blue-green tones which wasn’t exactly working with my muddy canvas. And the red lasted, but my patience grew extra-thin. I still wasn’t myself. I was a replica, like the Holographic Pokemon card that I needed so bad until I held it to the light and saw the pokeball on the other side.
Between the many chapters of my hair chronicles, I had my happiness feuled by a man who gave me a feeling of importance like no other. I still can’t imagine what today would look like if I didn’t work that day at the furniture store. It was like I was supposed to be there in that spot at that moment for everything to take place. If I had stepped out for a cigarette or had taken my Wendy’s lunch-run, I wouldn’t be here, having learned so much about myself through someone I truly admire.
*I thank you*
Still adamant about getting back to my ash blonde life, I hijacked my mom’s weeknights and asked her to bleach my head a couple of times. Together we crossed our fingers, mixed the powder bleach and hoped for the best.
Round one went smoothly, but it took about five or six more attempts to conquer the brassy-orange that sat up near my roots. All I kept thinking was how blonde I had wanted to be, and I sat there reminiscing over the good old days of being platinum and how I took those moments for granted. Kind of like when I’m super broke and start contemplating the hundreds of dollars spent on nuggets. I processed my hair back-to-back, looked at old Instagram pics and suffered through the weird pink hues in my bangs.
I did it again. And again.
It’s been a little over a week now and I can finally exhale. I know it sounds silly and pointless to some, but it isn’t fun to feel mismatched between your insides and outsides.
I hope this is the finishing touch I needed in order to prep me for 2018.
I hope I can finally get back to feeling like myself.
But mostly I hope he is reading this and understands that he was supposed to meet me when he did. While we both were in a position of endings and beginnings, it all had to happen to bring us to this point right now. Like I said before, I have no regrets in life, because every instance makes room for something else. Life is funny that way.