I’ve been meaning to blog for three days now. I mean, I’m not in school, I’ve got time. So what have I been doing?
Well, I got a haircut. I did all my laundry. I baked cookies. I’ve met up with (count ’em) two friends I’ve been meaning to catch up with.
But my biggest accomplishment is: I’ve been writing! Like, actual new stuff. I bit the bullet, swallowed my insecurity, and I wrote a new essay that I’ve been brainstorming for a couple weeks now. And I’ve already sent it out to a few journals; is it perfect? Oh, no. Absolutely not. But I wrote something and I sent it out into the world. I have not submitted work to journals in about a year and a half. I. Am. Pumped.
And I’m not stopping there. This spring break has been my time to write. Where other girls go to Panama City and flash camera crews and drink themselves into a coconut-scented, sandy oblivion, I have gotten up each morning, eaten breakfast, drank coffee, and wrote. For hours.
I started by telling you that I got my haircut because it’s almost as significant as writing. I got a pixie cut a few years ago. It was a phase I was going through – I wanted to look like a completely different person – and it was a bad look for me. Very bad. I shudder to think.
So I have been growing my hair out for almost three years. I have made two hairdressers promise me that no matter what I said, they would call my mom and get permission before they could cut all my hair off again. (My mom would never grant permission for them to do so. Trickery!)
And once it got long enough, I started getting bored. I couldn’t get past that phase where it was at my shoulders and just, you know, hanging there like a dead thing on my cheeks.
So this week, in the spirit of braving the writing world again by daring to create something new, I went to a new hair stylist who doesn’t know about the Mom Caveat, and I got her to cut my hair. I sat in the chair, told her the pixie cut story, and told her I wanted something new. Beyond that, it was up to her. This poor girl: she warned me that she didn’t know me, that she had never cut my hair before, but she also agreed to give me what I want. Something new. Something different. Something with some snap.
That’s what I’ve been seeking in my life. Something new, different, snappy. A new approach to writing instead of the same scared girl I’ve been, afraid to stare down a blank word processor screen, frightened by that incessant blinking cursor. And when I finally grew some gumption and sat down, I surprised myself by getting into a writing groove that not only produced words, but also produced confidence.
(Side note: Julie Andrews might be the answer for everything. Even when she turns into Stewie from “Family Guy.”)