This Christmas, my hair reached my waist. I noticed only when my sisters pointed it out. They hadn't seen me for six months and like sisters do, they always notice the little things. I grabbed some strands and criticized how dry/tangled/thin/etc. it was and hushed them right up. It's never quite right.
I've been to Longhairville before. Several times. No alarm sounds when it brushes my coat pockets, gets stuck in a car window (yes, that happened), or when my son trips on it (that happened, too). Whether it's tied in a topknot or down and straight, or, like I was planning on doing tonight, as short as this—it's just my hair. I'm still the same person. I still have the same insecurities, the same confidences, the frustrations and ideals. I don't spend much time on my hair and prefer it up. Nothing really changes when you reach your *beauty goal* unless you decidedly tell yourself it is so. Now that I'm here, I realize it's really not that great. I just have long hair. Oh, I'm sure there have been haircuts that have changed the world but I never want to hang my hopes on a haircut. Even this one. (pictured above)
What "beauty goals" have you once embraced, and then later dismissed? I am so fascinated by short, curly hair and have a secret dream that if I cut my hair really short, it will magically go curly and look like this. I'm also obsessed with amazing eyebrows, like Lucy's from Pretty Little Liars. Also tans. And freckles. And hips.
P.S.S. — This is a safe house for those who watch (and love) Pretty Little Liars and other shallow outlet shows like it.