I usually spend my mornings rushing -- rushing through breakfast, making the day's lunch -- and it's all because of my annoying habit of not waking up on time. Through the bustle of everyday madness, I'm thinking about one hundred million things, as Spotify plays my favorite album of the moment.
The things that add to the anxious time crunch are the following: what am I going to wear today... did I put sunscreen on... does my hair look okay in the back... should I wear red or purple lipstick today... where in the hell is my left shoe?
Yes, it all sounds superficial. But no, this isn't another story of finding out "things about myself," but rather a reflection of my past doings.
Rewind to a couple of weeks ago when I decided I to get my hair chopped off. It'd been three years since my last hair appointment, and I had this goal of growing out my natural curls. But of course, and this is with every hair transformation I've ever gone through, I got sick of it and neglected it until it dried up and became completely unmanageable.
In the days leading up to about the fourth big chop of my life, I stumbled upon a new routine. I twisted my "longer" hair for the last time and sat in front of the mirror like normal... but this time, it was silent. The Strokes weren't blasting out of my iPad nor was season three of "Breaking Bad" playing from Netflix. There was just the quiet noise of my room.
The physical routine happened in a fluid motion, as always: condition, oil, shea butter, now twist. However, it was the mental adventure I had in that moment that made it unique from all of the other times I'd grappled with my head of hair.
Pictures and what I like to call mind .gifs sprinkled into my memory and reminded me of the different ways I manipulated my hair into braids, relaxers, hair dyes and treatments. I thought about how I never really got the chance to learn what it was like to actually take care of my hair, because growing up with girls who only had to brush their long, flowing strands trained me into thinking that that's all I needed to do, too.
With the silence, my mind was allowed to actually remember and wonder about the times I'd loved or fucked up my hair, creating a meditation vibe that'd I'd never really encountered before. Because meditation is about reflection, right? And without distractions, my mind went there.
And, instead of blindly doing this bi-weekly ritual of a twist-out -- sometimes I wouldn't even look at what I was doing -- I streamlined my thoughts and only thought about me, myself and my beauty (natural and enhanced).
So, now I do all of my beauty cutie stuff without distraction and it not only helps me get ready in the traditional terms, but the quiet vibes give my day a stress-free start without the worries of forgetting something or taking the wrong pair of keys. I think about the day to come, the previous days and how I can improve some things and keep some things just as they are.
No longer do I have to worry about what song is on or how loud it is and no longer do I have to quickly rustle my hair and call it presentable. Because you know what they say about the tortoise and the hare... and I don't mind being the tortoise if it means calming my often frazzled nerves.
And with that I say: long live lipstick, y'all.