I got a haircut yesterday.
As I sat watching the hairdresser hack away at my curly locks, I got to reminiscing back on my first few years in LA. Back then I was all about keeping it close, back and sides manicured into a sweeping fade.
Sweeney Todd’s was my crutch. A throwback three-chair shop manned by rockabilly gents with hair slicked and pomaded.
It was the quietest spot.
The type of place you never took a call or entertained a conversation with your neighbour.
You entered, went out of your way to avoid all eye contact with the white-coats and scrawled your name on the chalkboard.
Then you sat and waited (you never asked questions).
Every single time I left feeling a little stronger, a little prouder of myself for facing my fears.
When we learn to confront the devil on our shoulder, we start to feel a whole lot lighter.