I am adrift at sea; tossed around like flotsam at high tide. I am a woman without a hairdresser. Some people would be lost without their personal gurus. Others seek the counsel of their financial advisors, shamans or shrinks. Me? I look to the guidance of those who wield the holy scissors and hair gel. It's not that I have bad hair. It's just that I have HAIR — lots of it. I have big leonine hair. I long ago figured out, that left to its own devices, my hair might become a tourist attraction and a threat to peace-loving peoples everywhere. Being a shy, retiring type of person-and a peace-lover myself-I kept my hair short and thus helped keep the world safe for democracy.

But two years ago I got a weird, offbeat spiritual calling. A Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair sort of calling. This didn't seem all that odd to me. I have an uncle with unusually long eyebrow hairs who told me long ago that he'd never trim them because they were the source of his strength. (Last time I saw Uncle Harold, his eyebrows were doing double duty as his toupee.) So I vowed never to cut my hair again (until further notice from the Gods or the voices in my head, whichever came first). And before you could say Vidal Sasoon, my previously boyishly-short hair was tickling my shoulders. And soon it was down my back and a family of chick-a-dees was trying to nest in it. 

I eventually figured out that growing my hair was part of a journey. I didn't know it at the time, but I was about to embark on a new path in my life. In order to do that, I think I needed to be able to see myself differently. Seeing a long-haired me in the mirror after so many years of the short haired version, helped me to see myself in a new way. And that helped me to make the decision to prepare for a career in ministry. 

Now that that decision is made (and the long, hot summer is upon us) I decided to cut my thick mane back into something lighter and easier to manage. Apparently, while I was evaluating my life's path, my long-relied upon hairdresser was evaluating hers — and quit the hairdressing business! So now I've bounced from hairdresser to hairdresser — each one chopping off another few inches and convincing me that with just enough "product" (i.e. glue in a can) I too, can have the curls of a Pre-Raphaelite goddess. Sure, it looks great when I leave the salon. But five minutes outside in the humidity and watch me turn into a human Q-tip! 

So having found my calling, I am now on a more pressing mission: The search for the right hairdresser. 'Cause you know what they say: A woman without a hairdresser is like a fish with a really ugly fin. 

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