Skip to main content

clariol and quicksand







Sometimes I get this urge to do something a little drastic.
And I’m mostly too old for piercings and tattoos (ok that hasn't really stopped me yet, but at least not during the school year), so last night I had to settle for a bottle of hair dye. And I’m not really sure what it is, but somehow the 8.99$ spent on whatever dye I choose always seems to renew me. At least a little. I know this is a little teenagerish of me to think that new hair will make me a new girl. But it always seems to help.

Last weekend, I ran a race and at one point we were trudging through the mud and the people in front of us stopped in their tracks.
Quick sand. They warned.
And they tugged and pulled and retrieved lost shoes from the mud.
The trick was just to keep moving. Not to stop. Because each time I paused, to catch my breathe, I would sink a little bit lower. And further. Making it only harder to move at all.
This week has felt a little bit like quicksand.
And it is probably because I am barely keeping my head above water. Much less moving forward.
I am stuck. And sinking. And occasionally even moving backwards.
And I refuse to stay here.

And last night as I lathered in my new shade (which is pretty much just my old shade because I wasn't brave enough to go for the black and thought that purple might get me in trouble at work), I wondered why I always want some physical change to represent a mental one.
And I think that color #46 should not be named lame “dark brown”
But instead,
“I am not the same girl yesterday that I am right now.
I am not stuck.
I have shiny vibrant hair, instead of the dull lackluster dead ends I sported yesterday. And this girl can tackle anything.
Even quick sand.”

But maybe that is too much to fit on the box.


Bigger Picture Moment

This post is part of bigger picture blogs..........and attempt to find the bigger picture in our crazy week and look for faith along the way. Check out some of the other posts at Hyacynth's
blog.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Amen to that! Isn't it crazy how much "new" hair makes you feel like a "new" you? My color is "Just TRY to stand in my way, world, Red." I just feel like telling everyone to bend over for the boot when I do my hair.
Unknown said…
I had never dyed my hair until last year, when I did it just for a change and was amazed at how it made me feel, and have done it again since then (and now keep looking and think it needs doing again). It makes me stand straight and look the world in the eye.

Love the idea of the colours being labelled by how they make us feel and react, maybe you should suggest it, there is a marketing scheme there!
Hyacynth said…
Yes, maybe a little much for the side of a box but defintely a marketing campaign.
I used to dye my hair or get pierced whenever I needed change, too. It never mattered that I was craving inner change but only altering the outside because it did the trick -- it made me feel different. Now I don't have time for hair dye or piercing, so I've moved to accessories. Not as cool, but it works. I also do a much better job now of instilling inner change, which has helped with the quicksand feelings .
Thanks for sharing and linking! Love reading your thoughts.
In college, I would dye my hair whenever I began to feel the restlessness setting in. That's why my parents have pictures of me with red, blonde, black, brown with aubrun highlights just to name a few.

I have moved away from reaching for the Clariol when I need a change. But I still find other way to reinvent myself - from changing my make up routine to purchasing a few new outifits.

Your post resonated with me so much. Thanks for sharing your bigger picture momment

Popular posts from this blog

multiple choice

As I write I am procturing a test ( yes on a Saturday, and no I am not getting paid for it.) The room is silent. The only noises I hear are pencils scratching on papers and pages turning. If I listen closely enough I swear I can hear their brains turning. I have always been a good test-taker. I would still regularly brag about my SAT scores if it wre socially appropriate to do so(or an actual indicator of anything meaningful). There is something comforting about multiple choice. (well as long as you don't have the crappy all of the above or none of the above choices...just the classic A, B, C, D variety). There are parameters. Multiple choice means you have options. The right answer is right in front of you, and all you have to do is find it. Even if you don't actually know which one the right answer is there are usually clues, it can be narrowed down or worked backwards. Even a blind guess is likely to be right 25% of the time. These aren't bad odds. All you have t...

Turning the question

My school has been sending me to some inquiry training. The “i” word has been thrown around since my education classes in college. It is one of those things that is really good as a concept but kind of hard to pull off in the classroom well. For lots of reasons. But the big one number is because teachers are reluctant to let go of the control. To let the kids loose with a concept and see where they end up. Let them discover, own it and share out all on their own. Without intervening. Then push them a little bit further and clear up any misconceptions that they are holding onto before they slip out your door. This is supposed to be the most meaningful way for a kid to learn. For them to discover rather than memorize. One of the other problems with inquiry and science is that kids have stopped learning how to ask questions. My son bombards me with whys all day long. Why are owls nocturnal? (which comes out a lot more like “not-turtles”) Why do I have to take a shower? Why ...

Meet the teacher

People keep asking me how I am or if I am going to cry. And few weeks ago, I kept saying no. I mean, I am used to dropping Owen off everyday at school. Or I’m at least used to Shaun dropping him off. I am used to school. I do it everyday. But. The first day is Monday. His and mine. And I am not ready. And I don’t just mean that my syllabus isn’t copied and that there are boxes all over my room. That would be true. But I am having doubts about my kid entering this world. The kind with lockers and buliten boards and hall passes. And tests. A world where from now on, he will be receiving a grade. Where he will be compared, judged, scolded, and ranked. We met his teacher the other night. Turns out I taught her son not too many years ago. Owen was off playing within seconds with a friend from his soccer team. Tearing the room apart. Ecstatic when he saw a big tub of legos. He will be just fine. But I wasn't so sure about me. I was suddenly filled with questions. The basic ones. Like how...