To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery.
The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
--Emily Dickinson

Monday, February 3, 2014

I needed to do something different...

Last week I turned the big 4-0. It was a good day, all things considered. At a professional conference, I received a rose from our breakfast waitress. My boss, who had control of the microphone at the conference, lauded me and had a couple hundred pastors sing me Happy Birthday.  A cute Starbucks dude gave me a free frappachino when I hit the road home. The family was glad to see me when I returned and met me with joyous embraces. It was the kind of day that gives you warm fuzzies.

Three days later, I dyed my hair purple.

My new look.
That's right, purple. There's also some gold mixed in for contrast. Why would I do such a thing? Mainly, because I've never done it before. And 2014 is all about new experiences. This year it's about taking risks and trying some things just to see what it's like. Plus, I really like purple. I wanted to do something that would change my outward appearance, something drastic to mark the start of a new year. Sure, I could have gone with piercings or a tattoo, but they seemed a little too permanent. Besides I'm pretty certain that the purple hair will stay as etched in mine and my family's memory as if I etched something in my skin.

When I was a teen, I never dyed my hair any strange colors. Unlike many of my friends, I didn't even try playing with peroxide-induced blonde streaks in my chocolate brown locks. 

So it's part teenage rebellion and part social experiment. Frankly, I wanted to see how other people would react. I've been walking around a couple days with purple hair and the most reaction I seem to garner is from elementary-age girls. Most of them think it's cool, a few scrunch up their faces with the strangeness of it all. Most folks haven't batted an eye. Maybe that comes from living in a metropolitan area, but they've been either too polite or too unfazed to make much mention of it. Of course, those are strangers. I haven't flaunted my purple locks in the workplace yet. I imagine my co-workers and the people I interact with most regularly will have the most to say. 

When I came home with purple hair, the reaction from my loved ones was mixed. Let me acknowledge that I have a loving and tolerant husband who was amply forewarned about the Year of Scheffie. Emma thought it was beyond cool and kept patting my head saying, "My mom has awesome purple hair!" Rose was flabbergasted but has gotten used to it. She's grudgingly accepted it after a day or so. Emma now wants to dye her hair orange. I told her she could dye it whatever color she wanted when she was 40. She's negotiated me down to age 32. I'm good with that.

Next month, maybe I'll learn to skydive. Stay tuned.

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