“I'm undaunted in my quest to amuse myself by constantly changing my hair”
– Hillary Clinton
Tuesday September 17
Today Wendy has the whole Blog to herself. Take it away Wendle…
So now I've been hornswoggled into writing another post…. by Moose and his wily ways.
Contrary to how I may sound when I'm blathering on about my friggin hair… the only attention I want to give my hair is enough to make sure I don't look like I did when I was 8 years old with my first 'big girl' hair cut. A pixie cut. Girls, you know the one, the cut the coolest girl in school turned her nose up at…the girl who you desperately wanted to be friends with so that you could feel as cool as you imagined she did (or maybe you were the cool girl). Yeah… just don't want to look like HER… thanks. And yet, here I am writing all about my hair. It is not my fault. I am a victim of “the Blog”.
So shorter and shorter she goes. I go to see Nikki, who's name I got from a new friend, Renee. I got the name because Renee's hair looks great. I head in to the chic looking studio tucked away in behind a gas station in Gibsons (35 minutes away). We talk about what I want done. I've had enough of this bob look… let's cut her off! We talk while she cuts. Mostly I'm pulling information from her about India. Somehow it came up that she's been there 9 times! (I feel this is good. Keep the one with the scissors talking about stuff that makes them feel happy). I can soon tell she knows what she's doing. I tell her to go for it, with the exceptions of no bangs… on account of my head being the size of a 8 year old's and I must not have side burns as it makes me look and feel like a boy. When she's all done she shows me it, I love the back. Unsure of the front. Then she puts some “product” in it and is making it stick out all funky at the back and is sweeping the front dramatically from right to left. As I'm sitting there thinking… that's okay she doesn't know you are going to go home and wash all this out and put a clip in the front. Just let it be… then I hear it … those dreaded words… “you'll have so much fun playing with this”. My eight year old is yelling NO! No I won't! I have no interest in playing with my hair. Never have. I had my hair long because I have no interest and I'm lazy and cheep! The only reason I cut it is because I had all these fly away hairs that made me look like this (see pic)… New growth or something…
I'm seemingly happy but that may be because I am unaware of the fright-wig I'm sporting around that big smile!… which brings me back to… it's just hair!
So… I don't say a word… not a word! Geez! I leave on my merry way with the false sense of hope that I will be able to wrangle the long bang I have been left to “play with”… obviously she mistook me for someone with a sense of style.Long story short… four days go by… I struggle with the front… Steve keeps looking at me with a silly grin whenever I'm trying to wrangle it and Colin hasn't said a word. He is well versed in the use of…if you can't say anything nice… So I finally get over myself on Saturday afternoon and leave her a message, making sure she knows I LOVE the back I just can't manage the front and would like it chopped off please. She obliges saying she can fit me in between a colour, on Tuesday at 1pm. I bring in a photo and the cut she gives me is a longer version of the image (as going all out would require a whole new cut all the way around).
I leave satisfied. Steve says he likes it. He's glad it's off my face but is still wondering why I don't just cut it all off. I may do that next… and then we grow her out. That's what you do right? That evening I get a spontaneous “Hey, your hair looks great Sis!” from Colin. Ahh… the 8 year old is satisfied. All is well. I'd love to say I had a life changing aha moment over this. Learned some kind of lesson. But not yet… some day… one can only hope. (and Steve giggles on).Anyhoo… here's the cut.
Wendle and Moose
I realized today that in some ways it feels completely right to be here and in some ways it feels completely wrong to be here and I'm not sure if either is true.
People often talk about pushing themselves out of their comfort zone to attain things like physical, financial and career goals.
Part of the art of hypnosis is leaving space between the words. Leaving a silent space. Until you feel it is long enough and then leave more space. That is the instruction. I have long since discovered the deep wisdom that arises from that space. And yet the frequency with which I consciously leave space for wisdom to come through in my daily life is miniscule compared to the frequency in which I am doing and thinking.I am mostly driven by the need to Do. The need to talk. To give and receive validation. To connect. My brother, Colin, periodically asks us “what's the plan” or, as he did tonight, lets us know that it's 'pretty for sure' that his house will be rented by October 1 and what are we going to do? He doesn't actually do it, but I get the impression he is internally shaking his head. Clearly we should at least be coming up with a plan A) and maybe a plan B). The feeling of the need to figure that out has reared its head many times.I have come to find that there is so much more to how I think and act that is based on my conditioning than I ever imagined! Where does the conditioning start? Where do “I” start? Blurred lines. And what am I calling I? Can I find a location for it?Pushing the limits of our comfort zone by doing nothing, leaving space instead of doing, waiting for the wisdom to arise from the silence seems to be the most challenging endeavor. And yet this is what we choose to do with the question… what should we do? Where should we be? What if we just Be. I wonder what will come out of that space. The only way to know for sure is to wait and see. Leave some space and when it feels uncomfortable leave more space.So do nothing we will because it is scary and because it is uncomfortable. Because I know where my conditioning brings me… and I know where wisdom comes from. Space.”Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible concatenations, there remains something subtle, intangible and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in point of fact, religious”