By Tiffani “sprouting like a chia pet” Michele
Ah, 2013. For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t so anxious to get rid of the previous year. 2012 was pretty good to me, so you’ll understand why I’m not clinging to you like the last life vest available on a stormy sea. It’s not that 2012 was any better or worse than what I’m sure you’ll throw at me…I don’t love it any more or less. I think the key was that I had very little expectations for awesome last year. 2011 almost killed me with piles and piles of shit situations. By the time I limped into 2012 I felt a certain amount of depressive symptoms without being depressed; apathetic, numb, pretty meh. I gave up…not on life, otherwise that would totally be depression, but on control of life. Que sera, sera, bitches. I was done with expectations and goals and control.
2012 was about letting what happened, happen, and accepting it. Growing from it, learning from it, being with it. I extended this same laissez faire attitude towards myself. Fuck improving myself. Fuck self help books and Oprah lightbulb moments. I had exactly one moment of clarity, and it was this: Relax and get real comfortable with yourself…the good and the bad. Stop being such a judgemental asshole to your own existence and just go with it. Don’t change it, don’t wish you were different, just be.
Turns out this was just as much work as trying to change everything and make everything better. But it was much more fulfilling and fun than my usual uptight self. Not giving a fuck really makes a difference!
By the time December rolled around, I decided to stop shaving and embrace myself in all my natural, hairy glory. I’d never done that before. Ever. And then, at the end of the month, I’d shave everything…including my head. I felt very happy about all of this, especially all the time I saved in my shower routine NOT shaving every nook and cranny.
I called it “the Reforestation of Tiff” and I rocked my hairy shit like no one’s business. I took my hairy legs and armpits to clubs in Las Vegas. I showed my bushy crotch at pools and beaches all around town. Speaking of bush…I love mine. I LOVE MY BUSH! In fact, it’s never been a bush before. It’s been a manicured lawn. It’s been a closely trimmed green at a golf course. It’s even been completely barren like a hairless cat. But never, ever, ever have I understood where the term “bush” came from. Until now.
I showed my legs off to my kids. “Look at this!” I’d say. My 13 year old son was actually really impressed. “Wow, mom, I didn’t know ladies could do that!” And honestly, neither did I. But I bluffed. “Real ladies, son. This is what real ladies look like! Look at all this hair!” Open mouthed, he said, “You have just as much as I do!” and yes, yes I did. I felt proud.
I had a moment of self doubt when it came time to shave it all off, including my head.
But then I said “Fuck it!” and did it anyway. My leg hair was so long I ended up using clippers to mow it down. I was really happy to see it go…and now it’s halfway grown back again. Not shaving is a luxury that I’m OK taking advantage of now…no shame is compelling me to get rid of it. I also left my armpits and arms unshaved. And after a month it’s clear that the reforestation of my bush is only halfway done, so I’m letting that do it’s thing down there. It’s pillowy soft and when I see myself in the mirror I’m reminded not of some 70’s style porn (why oh why is female sexuality always described in terms of porn?!) but more like of countless paintings of women since art began. My bush, it is art!
My shaved head is amazing and makes me very happy indeed. So simple. So humble. So badass.
I cannot stop rubbing my own head. I like when other people rub it, too. I like putting hats on it and taking hats off of it. I like the feel of wind/water on my scalp. Delicious is the best word to describe having a shaved head. I think it’ll be short for a while. The rest of 2013, at least! After that, who knows.
Que sera, sera bitches!