I don’t usually go to upscale salons to practice yoga, but that’s definitely what I did yesterday: In the course of my two-and-a-half-hour haircut, I had ample opportunity to focus on my breath, connect to my body (image), and become aware of my ego. I even stood in tadasana for part of the time, and ultimately surrendered to what is and accepted my present circumstances.
Haircuts can be traumatizing, as they tend to involve change. I recently watched a woman on What Not to Wear sob at the thought of chopping her locks, and I can relate to the apprehension. Fortunately I have confidence in who does my hair–I’m not comfortable spending a lot of money on my appearance, but thanks to a high-level training program at a fancy salon nearby, I can count on top quality, as long as I’m willing to put in the time.
Two-and-a-half hours is a long time for a haircut, but since it’s the result of perfectionist professionalism, I don’t complain. I just stay still, breathe, and trust that whatever is happening to my head is going to be all right. (Yoga, yoga, and more yoga.)
But yesterday I was caught off guard when human error jarred my placid perspective. Namely: dude ruined my feathers!
Feather extensions are still cool in NYC, and though I enjoyed the attention mine sometimes attracted, it wasn’t like I’d been trying hard to follow the trend. No, my feathers came on the cheap from an impulse buy at a Tibetan store in Boulder, and until they were taken from me, I didn’t think I cared about them.
After all, I’d worn them since June, and I felt I’d gotten my money’s worth. Summer is over, and I was over feathers, ready to let them go along with however much hair the stylist thought I could spare.
So it’s weird how happy I felt when I heard the head stylist and the training stylist discussing my new look and agreeing that the feather extensions should stay. From my seat of detached observation, I felt a thrill of the ego: Stylists at a high-end salon appreciated my low-maintenance fashion statement!
Gaining approval never gets old, apparently.
So maybe it serves me right that a few minutes later, one too many careless tugs of the comb rendered me featherless. My unexpected happiness instantly flipped to unexpected sadness and anger, and I struggled to appear calm and composed (because who freaks out over hair feathers?). But since I suck at faking feelings, I couldn’t help allowing a passive-aggressive utterance: “Oh well, I guess this is why I signed a waiver!” Heh. Heh. GRRR.
As the cut continued on (and on), I marveled at the emotions roiling inside of me. Why did I even care? We are talking about two feathers, here! Two silly, unnecessary, overhyped feathers that I’d been willing to let go of when I walked in the door, but, having revised my expectations, now felt very pained to lose.
Pain accompanies the loss of anything we are attached to, whether it be an imaginary vision of the future, the real presence of a loved one, or even the whimsical appeal of a hair accessory.
But, to quote the head stylist as he coached the training stylist on some minute detail of hair cutting technique, “the reality is, everything is connected.”
Too true! It doesn’t matter whether it’s an idea, a person, or an object–attachment is bound to happen, and the resulting pain is thus inevitable, and so the best thing I can do is to care without caring too much. To keep my attention not on the object of my affection, but on the essence of my caring, which is love.
Love what I love while it is here, and love what I lose after it’s gone. For it is love that will stay, not what I attach it to.
And anyway, I don’t need feathers to fly.
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