I was admiring someone's hair in church a few weeks ago. I was sitting a few rows behind her and couldn't help noticing her hair was perfect. A sleek, shiny bob angled to perfection. And it wasn't just the cut I admired. The color was awesome. Multi-faceted but oh-so-natural.
I like my hair. I really do. It's nice. It looks good right when I get done styling it in the morning. It's soft. It's practical. It keeps my head warm. It has a lot of potential.
I know it could be more. I could be more stylish by keeping up with the latest cuts and colors. But I lack the desire (not to mention the resources) to encourage its full potential. The people I know who have stylish hair spend a lot of time and money to have stylish hair. They have special relationships with their hairdressers. They see them more than they see some of their friends. Hair is a priority for them. It involves getting up earlier in the morning. It involves scheduling their activities around their every-six-week-set-in-stone hair appointment. It involves working a second job to afford a cut and color.
I have no issues with this lifestyle. These women look great and I wish I could be one of them. But I can't right now. That's okay, but it doesn't keep me from wondering what it would be like.
Anyway, back to the lady in church. I figured she must spend a bomb on her hair each month because either she just had it done (like MINUTES before church started) or she sees her hairstylist once a week without fail. It was seriously that perfect.
Should I say something to her? If I had put that much work into my appearance, I think I'd like to have my efforts recognized. But I don't really know her that well. Still, who wouldn't want to be told they look smashing? Might be one of those conversation/friendship starters. But could I really be friends with a woman who had such perfect hair?
No. I don't think so. It's bound to be the first of many dissimilarities which would lead to the ultimate demise of any fledgling relationship I might initiate. I decided to say nothing.
AND IT WAS A GOOD THING I KEPT MY YAPPER SHUT. Several days later, someone told me that this same woman had been diagnosed with breast cancer and was undergoing treatment. She'd kept it very hush hush. Only her family had been told. No one in the ward knew until just recently. She didn't want a bunch of people talking about her and asking her how she felt and coming over to her house to help out. Because...
She was extremely self-conscious about loosing her hair and having to wear a wig.
That's right. Had I said something about her hair, it would have been akin to stuffing my whole foot in my mouth, deciding that it wasn't full enough, cramming the other foot in there as well and swallowing myself whole. That's how bad it would have been. Maybe worse. There's no way of knowing.
Take what you can from my story. Use it in your daily life.