Rapunzel, Rapunzel

My hair has always been my thing.

I mean, I can't say I always KNEW it was my thing... but it definitely always has been.

As a child my hair hung in heavy, thick, golden brown sheets halfway down my back. It was more or less straight, but there was a natural curl, so that if it rained, I would get a curly halo around my face. I remember endless mornings sitting on the kitchen/living room/bedroom floor with my mother sitting on a chair right behind me, my head held tightly (mercilessly) between her knees. She would have a comb and an assortment of rubber bands and bows: her tools of torture. She would yank and part and pull. My head would fight, my neck would strain .... I think my spine and my skull actually separated from each other.

I was the first official bobblehead.

I would scream and cry and BEG that she just cut it all off. PLEASE, put me out of my misery. And every time she would say, "Kindra, someday you are going to LOVE this hair," or "Kindra, for the rest of your life you are going to hear, 'I wish I had your hair.'"

She was basically saying, "your hair is your thing." She was right.

I KNEW she was right the day in fourth grade when I had it all chopped off, started being mistaken for a boy, and my (fourth grade) boyfriend broke up with me saying "that's the worst haircut I've ever seen"... After that I started to wonder, is my hair ALL that I have..

Sadly, as is too often the case with young girls, I began taking inventory on everything that was wrong with me; my teeth were prisoners behind a steal bar, my legs weren't as skinny as the other girls, my clothes were hand me downs and not new and shiny. I was awkward, I was nerdy, I was loud even when I didn't want to be. I didn't wear jeans. In high school I wasn't cool, or savvy and my jeans were skinny at the ankle when they should have been wide enough for a boot. In college I wasn't coy or mysterious. I didn't know that the food in the cafeteria wasn't "good for you" and I put on the freshman 15 faster than I moved into the dorm. And in Scottsdale, I didn't have enough tone, my chest was too small, my bottom was too big, my lips too thin and my forehead too expressive...

However, through it all, I had my hair.

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Now I am a grown woman. Yes, I love my hair, but I know that it doesn't define me. I know that there are many things about me that are fabulous, and I remind myself of those things everyday... The insecurities of my past, of my foolish girlhood, are gone.
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It was two days before the 4th of July and I was in sunny Coronado, California sitting outside Cafe 1134 on Orange Avenue with my dreamy husband and my laptop. We had been sitting outside this cafe for three hours; watching the people, saying hello to friends as they passed. One of Michael's friends pulled up a chair, introduced herself to me, and joined us for a bit. We were casually visiting and at one point she asked me, "Does your hair naturally curl that way?"

"Oh, no, I use a curling iron. I've gotten pretty good at it over the years."

"It looks really nice."

...

Now, because I am a grown woman... Because I know my hair doesn't define me. Because I have left behind the foolish insecurities of my past... my natural response SHOULD have been: "Thank you." And STOP.

But instead, INSTEAD I started talking about DJ Tanner.

...

DJ Tanner. Does the name sound vaguely familiar? DJ Tanner, the eldest daughter on my favorite childhood sitcom Full House. Sitting there, on this beautiful California afternoon, with a virtual stranger, I went on to talk about the episode where DJ Tanner wanted to lose weight for Kimmy's pool party.

"In an effort to look like the models in the magazine, she stopped eating and went to the gym until she fell off the treadmill. Fortunately, Uncle Jesse had an intervention where he asked DJ (with cheesy music playing in the background) to share all of the things she had going for her. The only thing I remember DJ saying was, 'I have GREAT hair.' And I totally knew how DJ felt, that's how I feel -- I mean I may not have EVERYTHING going for me -- I may not have the best legs, or chest, or bottom, but I have GREAT hair..."

My voice trailed off. The kind friend of Michael's looked at me, her eyes wide. Michael stared at me, his jaw dropped. Eventually the two of them picked up conversation on a different topic that had nothing to do with bad television or crazy wives, but I didn't recover as quickly... I was asking myself "where did THAT come from?"
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I would guess it is safe to say you have never responded to a compliment by reciting an episode of an 80's sitcom -- no, that is definitely something reserved for only a "special few." However, I WOULD venture to guess that you HAVE accepted a compliment with a litany of reasons of why the compliment giver was mistaken. Regardless of which tactic you use, the end result is the same: in a moment where someone is offering their respect, awe, or even adoration -- you shower upon them all of the insecurities that have been holding you back.

Why? WHY would you want THEM to see you the way YOU see you? Don't try to change their minds -- try to change yours.

Just say Thank You. (and stop)

This is true for any type of compliment -- whether it be a compliment on your home, your work, your car, your children -- Thank You (and stop) is the best way to go.
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The conversation is still one of those that makes me physically cringe when I think of it -- I hope that means I will learn from it -- but more than anything I hope I don't see that girl again until she has long forgotten about it.

The next day I purchased a hat, and for the rest of the weekend festivities I was known as the Girl in the Fabulous Hat.