Hair + Log = Hog

I have not written in a while and to my twenty-one screaming fans, I truly apologize. I've heard you pounding at my door, weeping outside my window, but in truth, an artist of such grand vision often retires into the the depths of a creative void.

Kidding. I actually just have had no idea what to write.

I've been trying to figure out what exactly it means to keep a blog, and a hair blog, at that. "Blog," after all, comes from "Web Log," and certain evolutions have since occurred. We've seen the emergence of the "Vlog" (Video + Log), as one example. But, have we seen a Hair Log? I'm not so sure. And if we did? What exactly would we call it?

I'm tempted to call this blog a Hlog, which may be better spelled H'log, but I can't help but want to make it sound like Chalag, which then is really more of a Jewish blog about cooking. And this is not that. Hence, I'm going with Hog. And if my aims are misunderstood, at least we are left with the possible misunderstanding that this blog is about Hogs, and let's face it: pigs are really cute.

So if this is truly a Hog, I suppose I ought to find a way to thematically bring together my daily life and Hair, and if I'm lucky, the whole "ascetic," spiritual-quest element will make it's way in, too.

Hmmmm.

I think I know just the odd circumstance to fit the bill.

I was sitting on the subway yesterday to go meet some friends for a drink. I was trapped in my mind, which was circling around affirmations and visualizations the way a hamster runs around an exercise wheel. Having recently quit my job, and now just running my own businesses, I have been experiencing as much satisfied thrill as anxious hope. I've made ends meet every single week, but how--I'm often not sure. And so I've turned to creating mental images of my success, with the intention of "manifesting" them. Ah, the "m" word. Truly, Amanda has always been metaphysical and New Age-y, but moving to New York somehow really did it. (So much so, that she's even speaking in the third person.)

I looked up, and thought to myself, "Amanda. Just chill!" I enjoyed that feeling of solace that comes in between thoughts. The break that I first noticed while reading Tolle and having had too much wine. Could have been the Tolle, could have been the wine. So that's what I did, anyway, and I enjoyed the gap during which true creativity and being are meant to be experienced.

A dashing red nail color caught my eye, just ahead of me. "What a great nail color!" I said to the girl donning it.

"Oh thanks, I just got them done!" she answered.

"Well I just got mine done!" I said in reply. And it was true; I'm not that much of a schmoozer.

"And now I'm going to go get my hair cut," she finished.

Then embracing the inner schmoozer: "Well that's a pity because I'm a stylist. Looks like I just missed ya."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh! Well how about next time! Let me get your card!"

Really?

And then a voice from my right, "Um, I want your card, too!"

SERIOUSLY?

And then, a voice from, yep, you guessed it, my left. Same exclamation.

Of course what ensued was girlish ebullience about nail polish, haircuts, making friends on the MTA, and, even bras. I'm usually the one to take the impromptu bonding moments too far, and in bra-talk, I did not fail.

So the moral of this story, if I may attempt to create an MHlog (moral-driven hair log), is that in the moment that I stopped obsessing, everything just beautifully worked out, like a perfectly textured haircut. Every piece falling into place.

When we have a little faith in our ability to have faith, and stop trying so much, things work out. It's like when you're trying to force a key into a lock, and once you loosen your grip, it finally slips in with ease.

I don't know if I really will hear from these girls, but I do know that it put a smile on my face. Buzzing potentialities are just rearing to burst into reality if we care to let them.

Even if we have no idea what to say, do, or write.