Before Monday, I don't think I had parted my hair down the center, well, probably since I was 11.
Sure, I've swapped which side my part is on. And over the years it has progressively gotten further and further from center. But it has been years since I went with a symmetrical center part. A side part has just become habit.
(As a side note, give or take 6 inches, and minus a brief stint with bangs and some auburn hair dye, my hair has been the exact same for 15 years.)
So, I was standing in front of the mirror Monday morning, and I was feeling restless. Restless with my boring job. Restless with my waning Portland social life. Restless with my apartment on hipster alley. And restless with that stupid side part that's inching towards my ear. In what alllllmost felt like an act of rebellion, I took my comb, lined it up with my nose, and slid it through the center of my scalp, painfully separating hair that hadn't shifted direction in years. After some blow dryer coaxing, I walked out the door.
Now, what I want to write next is that this center part looked amazing and changed everything. That it somehow reinvigorated my life with meaning and connection and hair identity.
But instead, it looked awkward. Like D.J. Tanner (circa 1992) meets Kristen Stewart pre fame kind of awkward. I was incredibly conscious of it the entire day, trying to catch glimpses of it in mirrors and windows to assure myself that it wasn't actually that crazy. And it seemed to act as a catalyst for the weirdest week ever. Like a friend put Baby on in the car [yes, I'm talking Bieber], and it felt like my jam, and I sang every word passionately [it's amazing how those words just flow back to me], and I went to a movie by myself for the first time, and I've been eating a really odd amount of Chex.
It's been a week, and I think normalcy is finally coming back around. I'm back to a side part for the time being.