***On the third Sunday of the month (that's today!), I post about learning Spanish. It's one way, I'm discovering my roots. Scroll down by the cute picture of Chester to skip directly the learn Spanish part!***
You're probably in one camp and/or the other: taking news of the Coronavirus seriously and/or rolling your eyes at the wave of people hoarding toilet paper. Either way, I hope you're washing your hands thoroughly, wiping down surfaces, and not breathing heavy on your favorite grandma.
Last week, I skipped my weekly blog post because I was feeling drained. I almost didn't go perform at the event in Mineral Point celebrating International Women's Day -- but I'm so glad I did! And not just because I made the front page of Mineral Point's newspaper. The evening, hosted by ButtonHill Music Studio and LunArt Music Festival, was filled with inspiration.
I spend my best self at work. I'm a day-dweller, with energy in abundance when the sun is out. By the time I make it back home at the end of the day, most of my motivation has disappeared. And yet, the most important elements of my life are outside of work. How do I manage my time and energy so I can still pour it into the things that add beauty, depth, and meaning into ordinary days?
Yesterday, with the Jewish holiday of Tu Bishvat approaching, I had an epiphany.
This blog post is dedicated to Shakira! Just kidding . . . except, not really. Shakira was one of the first (and only?) people to make me feel good about my hair when I was younger. Representation in pop culture can be so powerful.
My curly hair journey began when I was born, obviously, but wasn't something I started to really explore until late in high school. I had Shirley-Temple ringlets as a little girl, and then thick/bushy/course hair as I got older. My mom trimmed my hair at home, until I begged for a big chop at a local salon when I was around 12.
My mom has thinner, rather smooth, wavy hair (comparatively). My Grandma Ruth has hair a lot closer to mine, and I wish she had lived nearby when I was little to teach me any tips and tricks she'd learned through the years. Although, really, everyone's curls are different! So it might not really have made a difference either way.
I absolutely hated my hair when was a pre-teen and teen. I bombarded it with chemicals and heat damage, trying to achieve the silky, straight, smooth hair that I thought was the only definition of beauty. One day, my straightener broke. That's when my curly hair journey really, truly began. I stopped fighting against the natural state of my hair, and focused on learning how to love my curls.