For a while, I told myself that I would cut my hair to express mourning. I liked the idea of physically showing inner turmoil after the death of a family member, an outside change to reflect the inside like the ancient Greeks or Prince Zuko. Removing choice from the equation felt simpler: if someone dies, then I cut my hair. No decision to be made and no discussion or feedback to elicit.
Continue reading “On cut hair (or a meditation on identity)”