Uncomfortable Edges
My venture into clothing design happened quite by accident during my year long, solo journey through India and Nepal. The story begins with a choice I made – perhaps lacking wisdom in its timing, yet ultimately fortuitous in its consequence.
In December of 2009 – just a few months into my trip – I boldly handed 35 rupees to a barber and sat stoically as he cleanly shaved my head.
Why? – you may ask. It was a (not so) small strike at vanity.
As a woman, so much of my identity is tangled in my tresses. The length and style of my chosen variations has always reflected something about who I believe I am – more importantly...who I want to be.
As well, I've long believed that hair holds memory, retaining some residue of our emotional experience. During moments of exceptional difficulty in my life, I've often made drastic changes to my hair – usually by chopping most of it off.
This time was no different; I was on the heels of a divorce – trying to remember who I was by confronting my deeply entrenched ideas of self – exploring the uncomfortable edges – challenging myself to grow in unfamiliar ways.
A Cleansing Pilgrimage
I'd traveled to Bodh Gaya to sit for 10 days of silent meditation at a Vipassana center there, landing a few days early to spend time at the Mahabodhi Temple.
The city was a sea of saffron as thousands of monks gathered, chanting mantras and claiming space for the Dalai Lama's upcoming visit. I found it to be a bit like a Buddhist Disneyland, yet there was something undeniably special about the place. It was peaceful there, even if a bit overcrowded.
I suppose I was inspired, in part, by the beautifully shorn heads all around me. I'd been toying with the idea of shaving my own for a couple weeks and decided that Bodh Gaya was the perfect place to do so.
I was terrified, which only confirmed the importance of going through with it. I don't think I could've done it without the support of my friend Jake, who kindly held my camera and honored the occasion for me.
How It Felt
I penned a journal entry that night while sitting in that ancient spot, under that beautiful tree. I think it describes the experience better than I can after so much time has passed...
Shadows pass over these pages – monotonous voices chant continuously – birds, in evening song, join the holy chorus. Beads pass through fingers – over fingertips – prayers whispered into malas – palms pressed together – eyes closed – sitting – walking soft circles around the temple, past and under the bodhi tree. Gold leaf and kisses commemorating this spot – under this sacred tree, where Gautama, the Buddha, reached enlightenment. The energy here is heavily spiritual...palpable...comforting. I seek my own enlightenment beneath these branches – an 'unburdening' – a liberation – a release – a letting go – a shedding of identity.
With shaky hands and rapidly beating heart I lifted myself into the barber's chair – a sudden upwelling of emotion put a lump in my throat and sent a single tear streaming down my left cheek as I clumsily braided a handful of hair. I closed my eyes as a dull pair of heavy scissors separated the braid from my head, sealing my fate and steeling my resolve. With a straight razor scraping over every inch of my scalp, I listened to the sound of transformation – my hair falling in colorful swirls – down my chest – over my shoulders – onto the dusty, cement floor – each strand carrying with it some piece of my imagined sense of self – my identity coiling itself within my severed locks.
I've felt light-headed, quite literally, and ever so slightly dizzy as the subtlest of breezes runs over my naked scalp – as new sensations ripple in waves from my forehead to the nape of my neck – hot, then cold, then hot again. Feeling both liberated and lost – unsure who I'll find under the easy disguise of hair – eradicating vanity – challenging myself to just 'be' – with bare feet and bald head. Can I learn to love myself without mirrors and makeup and hairbrush? Can I walk confidently without the surface identity I've always known?
Clean slate – clear canvas – I begin anew...
The Shape of Me
Having a naked scalp took some getting used to. Every now and then I'd catch my shadow and my breath, not recognizing the shape of my own head. Gazing into a mirror and clearly seeing my unframed face upon emerging from Vipassana was shocking and awkward at first, but I eventually relaxed into it.
The new growth was soft and cute, showing me the pattern that had always been hidden underneath. It grew in a sweet spiral, meeting at my crown in the funniest convergence of directions that stuck through every scarf I wore – like golden grass on silken lawns.
On the practical side, it was so much easier to travel without having to worry about my hair – without the added need for hair-related toiletries. A side benefit was also a great reduction in unwanted attention – I'd been getting a bit too much of that from locals. Turns out they weren't so fond of bald ladies. I was just fine with that.
I felt lighter somehow – weightless and strong – powerfully fragile and cautiously beautiful.
Having never before experienced the acute sensitivity of a bald scalp, I greatly underestimated the challenge I'd created for myself by entering into Vipassana with a freshly shaved head. That choice led me in directions I simply never would have imagined. Stay tuned for Part 2 as the story continues...
