Kick Start

I'm sitting in a queen size bed, that I folded and squeezed into the biggest walk in closet I've ever had the joy of inhabiting, to date. It's so silent I can hear the computer breath- and the next door neighbors' dogs holding conversation between property boundaries. From upstairs, mumbled male voices ring down- delivering faint remnants of sound. Then there's me, quiet, in this foreign space. Now I have to say, in the last few years foreign spaces have become the trend. If a film strip could play right now, you'd see me wake in basic training to the sound of revelee, walk behind my father- characteristic blue overalls and long legged gait, as we turn the corner  on our way to do business in the city square in Las Marias, then it would go black, as I turn off my head lamp and hold my dog close for warmth under a roped together tarp tent.. At the end of every excursion, I've ached for more. My father would chalk this feeling up to his Semanic Jewish heritage, roamers by nature. My mom says, I'm impulsive, weird, and like my father. But I say, I'm an explorer.

Which brings me to now, I suppose. I'm back in the 808 area code, Hawaii, USA. I spent my highschool years on the Big Island- in the south then the west side. Yet, although I'm home, I'm not. I know "End of the World", faces from highschool, Donkey Mill, the politics of wave catching, lyrics to over played hawaiian hits, and voggy nights, but I don't know me, here, now. I know how to navigate the foreign. I know how to look a stranger in the face and start a 10 minute conversation about anything, I know how to map way through town and find the nearest open mic by word of mouth, I know how to unpack and pack all my things in hours, but I have no idea how to navigate this familiar place. Although I have my old understanding of the culture here, I realize it's outdated. I need to throw it all out. Out of my comfort zone is what I crave, and I'm definetly there but this time it has nothing to do with new. I feel like I'm stuck in a permanent head stand, lost, out of breath, without composure, and at a loss- and exactly right where I need to be.

------------------------------------------------------

In other, smaller sort of news, I shaved my head last week. I think I've told people 20 different reasons why, and they all sound like fairly good rationalizations. They shake their heads, and look half convinced. Yet I have no good rationalizations, accept it felt like a good idea and I wanted to try it. That doesn't even sound good!  No matter, there is something about not having hair that has changed how I feel about myself. I think in the simple act, of buzzing my hair, I've begun to truly see myself. No more ringlety afro Annie curls to take center stage. Just my face- my lips, my eyes, every minuet expression seems to be amplified. I feel like I'm in some sort of walking spot light. My lack of hair, seems to make final sense of the curvature of my hips, the length of my neck, the span of my arms. It's Maya Angelou's poem recreated in a haircut. I'm surprised at my reflection but I can't seem to get enough of trying to comprehend it. I feel brave, exposed, at times more feminine then I've ever felt. I gravitate to bright lipsticks and high heels. Yet nothing is all sunshine, insecurity boils up at moments- and I doubt that there is any beauty there, at all. But then I let it go (and feel beautiful later), or someone will compliment me, or the guy who made my coffee will flirt with me, and it puts things back into perspective. I've realized that I just have to own it. So far it's an experience that has changed my perspective. And when I sit alone by myself, running my fingers across my scalp, I can't help but smirk and feel kind of fearless.