the green hairdresser

I went to the hairdresser today. Since my regular hairdresser was unavailable, I took an appointment with Veronique, the new girl, who was obviously the latest apprentice. By the end of the hour that I spent there, I was thinking that perhaps Veronique should be pursuing something else in life besides being a hairdresser. Don't worry, the end result was quite good, but I got the feeling that she really didn't like hair at all. She pulled and yanked at my locks, then gave them a rather warmer than usual (almost shockingly hot) wash, after which she attempted a scalp massage which ended up feeling more like an encounter in a vice.

I managed never to complain, yelp or exclaim and even gave her a small tip for her services (after all, she was just learning and charged me less than I normally paid), but I doubt how successful she will ever be in that line of work. You see, Veronique does not "get" hair. She treats it like a dead thing, something to be mangled and manhandled into an acceptable form. If you have ever had a good hairdresser, you know the feeling of being in the hands of an artist who sees beauty and life and endless possibilities in those strands of protein. She or he seeks to unveil the glorious halo of beauty around your head and respects the hair God gave you instead of trying to squeeze the last bit of life and body out of a fashion accessory that happens to be attached at the moment to your head.

I wish Veronique well, I really do, but unless she learns to love hair she will never be able to see, and thus release, its beauty.

Each person I find myself incapable of loving I will simply try to manage or control or use. I will never see their potential and appreciate their beauty unless I first respect and love how they were formed in the creator's hand. Let me never be a user of people, pushing them around and readjusting them and scrubbing them as if they were dead weight which happens to be attached to some more meaningful and important part of the body.

Love your hair. Love the ones you serve. Love the ones who serve you. Bring out their beauty.

This is an apple tree in Ile Perrot, ripening.

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outWORD by Matte Downey

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