CRIPPLED

A couple months preceding my 40^th it was all I talked about; almost as though turning 40 will be a defining moment for me. I was talking to my sis (Que) and she said “Oh, you won’t feel any different, I’ve been there” and I had laughed. But it is slowly dawning on me that she is right. Change doesn’t happen from one day to the next. I like the fact that I am 40 though, and I seem to throw it about carelessly of late, almost as though it gives me the right to belong to a prestigious group. Silly.

However, it has been a source of some nagging thoughts about personalities and what forms ours. When do we break away from the silently assigned roles of gender, or culture, or race? When do we see that the defining difference between one being and the next has very little to do with any of that?

When do we begin to take note of our individuality? When, how and why do we built the courage to embrace who we want to be and become that person? Then at what point does it become habitual to the point we become resistant to change?

I have always thought I was an evolving person, and in that sense, I mean I am ready and willing to embrace change; to see from a point of view that isn’t mine, to dare to think outside my box. I am slowly beginning to despair at my lack of breakthrough, lately especially. For some reason I can’t seem to break away from a crippling cycle; I am in a communication warp and it feels like a prison. I don’t seem to communicate effectively to the people that matter, and I don’t seem to process information in the way it is intended.

I have wondered if I have become so locked up in myself that I have become incapable of change. Is there even any such state?

When I was a child, I developed an attraction to dictionaries; I had to. Scrabble happens to be a favourite family game and to stay on top, it helped to know words and meanings……but it was also through playing with words that I had discovered back then how very little I knew of language, which in turn made me aware of how ineffective proper communication was without it.

Today, I have a wider vocabulary but feel like I am less successful with communicating even the simplest ideas, which simply makes me want to lock myself in…..and I find that I am doing just that. It is exhausting trying so hard at something and feeling like a failure for it.

Is my resignation a result of sheer laziness or have I really reached that age where change (evolving) is difficult? I thought life began at 40?

Sigh.

IT'S ONLY HAIR.

What is it about dreadlocks that seem to offend people? Yesterday in a conversation about caring for my daughter’s hair, I mentioned looking forward to when she will worry about it herself, and I got a rather odd retort of it then becoming ‘rasta’ like it would be a bad thing, I had to quickly point out that it’s what I have on my head, so it won’t be a totally bad thing.

It’s amusing. This is the 4th retort being made about ‘rasta’ from people close to me, like it’s a bad thing to have. One was a direct attack on my own locs and the three others were just disapprovals on the general idea of dreadlocks with a quick justification as though it was ok, if it was on my head but not as an acceptable hairstyle (?)

I am not apologetic for having locs and as a matter of fact not even my own father’s disapproval of my hair would make me feel any different about it (and I care what he would think….). But I am beginning to wonder though, in all honesty what you guys really feel about my hair. Can I say I would rather have the disapproval voiced out there and we can all move on? It’s odd suddenly having to wonder who else is putting up with my hairstyle simply to keep the peace. Come on guys!

This is an open invitation for you all to take that long awaited swing at how ‘disgusting’ (or your choice of words) you find locs. Don’t worry, I won’t take offense. If I had asked permission before locking my hair then it could matter what anyone thinks, so let’s have it out, it’s only hair and it is quite OK not to like it, so don’t try to like mine simply because it’s on my head. I am not my hair.