Almost 2 weeks ago, I had an “incident” with our grill. I’ll save the telling of what happened for another post when I need a good laugh, but the short story is that a lot of my hair was singed (aka—burnt off).
After the initial dread of looking in a mirror in case my eyebrows were gone, I laughed and moved on. But my girls were scared. I looked like a lion with all the fuzz around my head. And part of me was scared to start pulling out the burnt pieces for fear that it would leave big holes, but I had to be brave for them, right?
So I started pulling. And worse than seeing all the stuff falling, was the smell. After washing it 6 times and conditioning it twice, I still smelled it. And was scared to get too close to people for a couple of days in case they could smell it.
And folks, there is NOTHING worse than the smell of burnt hair.
Skip ahead to today—almost 2 weeks later. The hair is starting to grow back. I have all of this baby hair at my scalp that is dark. And it is sticking straight out and is able to be hid right now, but I’m not sure how much longer it will be before it pokes out for all to see.
Sometimes, I’m happy with things as they are and don’t want to make any changes. Or see the need for any. And it takes something dramatic for me to change—usually not something I would have planned or expected—sometimes it’s something really hard (like having my hair burnt).
But, as the new hair grows—thicker and a better texture—the beauty of it pushes through the old, and you don’t see the dry, split ends as clearly as you did before.
And none of it was my doing. Not the burning, not the growth. My only job is to style it in a way that uses it effectively.
Hmmm…kind of makes sense to me in an oddly, spiritual way.