Life is Like Growing Out a Pixie Cut
It is about midnight-thirty in Vancouver, BC. I walk up to my hotel after a delayed flight with an upcoming early morning of training to follow. I hand the desk attendant my ID and credit card with sleepy eyes and airplane musk, he is French and very chipper for this time of night. He takes a good long hard look at my California ID, looks at me, looks at the ID, looks at me and then says, "I like your hair short better. It is more fun. You look like a fun French girl".
I look at him and smile with more patience I knew was in me at this hour. "You know what, I am in growth mode. Do you know how hard it is to grow out a pixie cut? It is a process and I am right in the middle of it".
As I walk away from the Frenchman behind the hotel desk, I silently agree that this current cut is not my best look and I remind myself that I have been in an airport or on a plane for the past 5 hours, too. However, his comment jolted me to this uncomfortable space of perceived change, a self-inflicted and momentary identity crisis or pangs of memories of who I once was ... when I looked like a French girl.
I begin to wonder, how many times in my life have I been going through a gnarly and not too appealing growth phase and someone comments on the "old me"? The all to familiar jolt, the uncomfortable questioning of life choices and awkward exchanges.
And then I remind myself in this moment: "You know what, I am in growth mode. It is a process and I am right in the middle of it".
And I am okay with that. Every. Single. Day.