This may seem like a silly worry, but I've been a little concerned about my hair.  You see, I've got this really great stylist back at school. She's one of those people who seems to get me and what I'm trying to do. In a way, she's a lot like my academic advisor, in a different way. In fact, I've been singularly blessed in life to be able to find people who seem to grasp my vision. Also, her name is Kara. Need I say more?

Anyway, I'm home for the summer and trying to build a life here. I'm making friends and building relationships, trying out new restaurants and getting involved in church, but until this week, I couldn't bring myself to get a haircut. Even though it needs to be done.

There is a lady at my church who cuts hair. I made an appointment with her and approached it with trepidation. One thing was certain: she wouldn't be Kara. 

I drove to my appointment and stepped inside. I'm pretty sure that I was shaking and sweating. I took a seat. It came, of course, that little conversation about "what we're doing today." I wanted to just smile like I do with Kara and tell her to make me look cute. But I couldn't. So, I tried to explain what I thought I wanted and watched in horror as she hacked off my hair. We continued to make conversation. 

I really was afraid that I was going to hate it and I still have to go to church with this woman. What will I do if I hate this haircut? 


Suddenly, it was blow-dried and not all taken off. It looked good. It seemed that all of my worries were in pursuit of nothing. In fact, I felt so good that I had an extra spring in my step all day long. 

Monica is not Kara, but she is good at being Monica. That is good enough for me.