(Here’s a post I wrote yesterday at Mocha Joe’s (my hang out spot for the last 3 days) in Melbourne …it’s just a creative rant.)
Friday, November 21, 2014
Today I woke up cranky. I’m not sure why, but maybe it was when my husband said, “WHOA!” when he saw my raccoon eyes, as I had been too tired to wash my face last night. Maybe it was the crankiness that comes from forgetting your round brush back in the US, the one left sitting next to my sneakers, still waiting for me back in the States. Or perhaps it was the frizz-ball I woke up to that couldn’t be rectified by said round brush OR my ridiculously expensive flat iron that I burned up yesterday in the electrical conversion conundrum that happens when traveling overseas. Maybe I was cranky because I miss my kids? Or possibly it was due to the nerves running amuck in my body at the thought of my husband renting a car where the steering wheel is on the right side but everyone drives on the left? The thought of hitting Melbourne rush hour on the way out of town for a 3 hour drive along the coast to where we hold a reservation for the night, with frizzy hair, put me over the edge. Meanwhile, yes, my husband is up the road saving children at his day job, so the true sadness in this story is not lost on me.
After I shot out some prayers to God and a text to my friend, pleading for her to pray for my soul, I headed around the corner from our hotel to a salon called Rokk Ebony, voted “Salon of the Year” for 2014. I asked the guy at the computer if they took walk-in’s, wondering if he could fix my “bad hair day” and then inquired about a blow-out. He said he could get me in in an hour, and mentioned he’d be the one doing my hair. I headed across the street for salad and local snapper and kept reading and nodding my head, pondering thoughts over the pages of “Faith Shift” by Kathy Escobar.
After lunch in the sun I headed over for my appointment with Mason. He sent me back with a young 20-something to the washing basins and I closed my eyes and breathed a bit while she washed the stress out of my hair. As I sat there I wondered and hoped this was one of those hair salons where they would offer me more than coffee with my service. I also decided as the conditioner rinsed out that I’d throw in the extra $20 and have Mason go ahead and trim my hair.
Why is it that feelings of guilt creeped up in my heart momentarily? I asked him if he had the time for a cut and he said he did. I have had my hair cut by the amazing Erin Ferris for 12 years now and here I was, in a land down under, having a hair affair. He assured me that Erin would approve since I was in another country, so I relaxed and sipped an Australian white as he started trimming and styling my frizz away. And, as you do during any haircut, we started swapping stories. Mason, come to find out, managed the salon, one of 6 throughout Melbourne that his family started. I learned how his parents were both full-blooded Italians who moved from Italy to start new lives for themselves in Oz in 1953…how he and his siblings came upon the name of the salon over champagne and dinner one night way back when, and how he and his 30+ cousins grew up making homemade pasta with his mom and aunts.
I told him that, even though it was a color salon, as well, that all the grays he saw were mine, rightfully earned, each with a story, and at least for today, I was proud of each one.
Not all days are awesome. I love Jesus with my whole heart and pray throughout the day, thanking God for His goodness, seeking His direction in my day to day, watching for ways I might be an encouragement to others. But all the same, not all days are awesome. There is no formula to follow that can quantify our faith or trust or servitude to God. Not everyday seems purposeful or productive or profound. The truth is, some days you just wake up with raccoon eyes and bad hair and eventually the frizz and mental and emotional haze fades away…and sunshine, a haircut, a spot of tea, or a glass of wine take you back to the place in your heart that needs a revisit…you pull up your britches and the perspective returns, and you put one foot in front of the other, and keep pressing on, frizz or no frizz.