Pixie Baby, Pixie

Recently I have been thinking about my long hair. Probably because the year anniversary of when I cut it off is right around the corner.

The day I chopped off my hair still remains as one of the most liberating moments of my life. I had been thinking about cutting it off for months up to that point. I was planning on doing it right around my birthday. I had my reasons. I was turning 20 years old. Goodbye teenage years. Chopping off that part of my life. Not because I necessarily regretted it but because I was ready for a change, and how metaphorical. These were all my plans, yes, but would I actually have the guts to do it? Most women would agree that the idea of chopping off their hair is horrifying, and quite possibly the riskiest thing any woman would choose to do. However, the act of actually doing it wasn’t too intimidating to me. I mean, it’s just hair. It grows, right? Obviously, I am much less attached to my hair than most girls.

So, no, I wasn’t scared about cutting it off. What I was scared of was how people would react if I cut it off. Would people like it? So I started dropping hints around people.
“Do you think I could pull off a pixie cut? Hypothetically speaking of course.”
“Nahhh.”
“Not many people can, you know.”
“You aren’t thinking about getting a pixie cut, are you? Don’t.”

That was a majority of the responses I received. Yes, I did have a few positive responses, but most people are not a fan of the pixie. The pixie cut does not fit the gender schema. Girls are supposed to have long hair. Women are supposed to be sexy. Short hair isn’t sexy; it’s boyish. You know what’s sexy? Long, luxurious locks and a bodacious rack. Now, that’s sexy. And that’s how women are supposed to look, so they shy away from short hair. They remain hidden behind their long hair.

I was getting annoyed by these warnings. I knew I could pull off the pixie. I just knew it. And I want to prove everyone wrong. I was sold. I was chopping it off, and the more people who told me not to, the more I wanted to do it. I was sick of feeling constrained by my hair. I was sick of letting people rule my decisions. I was letting people define me as much as my hair define me. My decision was made.

I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be able to have a ponytail anymore.

I accepted the fact that people weren’t going to like it.
I accepted the fact that guys probably weren’t going to be attracted to me anymore.

And I didn’t care.

Did I cry? No.
I went in and said, “Do it. Chop it off.”

And there it went. And I was free. 

It was like I cut off years of insecurities and doubts.  

The best part of chopping off all my hair was that is was my decision and my decision alone. It was something I needed to do for me. Like I said, I was so sick of letting myself be influenced by other people. I was done with letting others define me. I needed to do this for me.

And I did.

And the Kathleen that had been hiding behind her hair for so long was released, and she was ready to face the world.

So do something. Do something for you, and you alone.

I know I need to because longhaired Kathleen is trying to resurface, and that’s not okay. 

Ben Franklin Bridge To I Don't Know Where

Long time, no blog. Yes, I know, it's been awhile. I guess you could say I have been uninspired (excuses), but when CSM presented this blogging contest, I thought I had something I could share. So here it is:

Going into week three of city hosting, I was extremely confident. After some extreme conflict with my map during staff  training, I felt we had resolved some major issues and a summer love had started to bloom. Directions were starting to become really fun for me. Oh, Map 54 K-1 to Map 58 B-2 you say? Challenge accepted. I also felt like I had been doing an exceptional job being able to connect with each of the two unique groups I had the previous weeks. To top it all off, I was having so much fun serving alongside my groups at all the different ministry sites. So as week three was approaching, I was on my high horse. I was made for this job. It couldn’t be easier for me. Little did I know.

            When I first met the two leaders of my serving group, I was slightly nervous but not shaken. They were quite the dichotomous pair. We had the extremely detail-oriented and the 40 year old kid. This would be an  interesting week but nothing I couldn’t I couldn’t handle. Like I said, I was made for this job. I had it down.  I can handle challenges presented by other people. I’m flexible. I’m available. I can be teachable.  Definitely F.A.T.

            Come Thursday, I realized that I was the most challenging part of the week. The students and leaders needed to be F.A.T. for me and not the other way around. I had misread the schedule and thought we weren’t supposed to be at our next site until 1, not the actual time we were supposed to be there, 12:30, and currently, I had led our group to I have no idea, New Jersey. We miraculously arrived but 45 minutes late. When we got there I escaped to the bathroom and sat in a stall crying. I had officially given myself the “World’s Worst Host” title. I know what you’re thinking. Overreaction. Late one day? It happens. But did I mention we had arrived 30 minutes late to our site the previous day courtesy of , you guessed it, me? I like to blame it on the vortex of what is the Ben Franklin Parkway of Philly, but if I am being real, I just use that as a means to not dent my pride.

My students were starting to notice. When students start to notice, it is not a good sign. And they started to only remember all the times I got them lost, and not the times I actually got them places in a timely manner and with no wrong turns. Those times outweighed our lost times, but they didn’t remember that. Naturally. I was sick of the “Why can’t we just use a GPS system?” and “Why are we always lost?” So I had to finish strong. I had to prove that I knew where I was going. It was Friday. If I finished this day without messing up, then they would only remember that last day. A good day. Our first site that day was 30 minutes outside Philly. Okay, that’s fine. I have directions. We missed one turn, and we immediately got back on track, but the kids didn’t miss that wrong turn for a second. They dubbed turning around “Kathleening.” “Oh, we’re just Kathleening again.” Cute. But then it started to hurt. It was really a blow to my confidence. We got back to the city fine for the most part. They got to explore the city on their own for a few hours that afternoon. I only had one major place left to get them that night. Our restaurant. It was only 2 main turns from Old City Philly. Easy enough.

“Kathleen, do you know where you’re going?” “Yes.”

15 minutes later we were on the Ben Franklin Bridge to New Jersey. This officially made it the worst week of my life. Really, God? You were supposed to throw me a bone here. Instead, I am  now in New Jersey. I was really beginning to hate New Jersey. It gave me nothing but trouble. We eventually joined the groups at dinner. Late. I was so discouraged. I did not want to hand out those CSM evaluations that night. I didn’t want to know what they had to say.

Still super discouraged and with a bruised ego, I reluctantly gave them their CSM evaluations. What I read that night after they were all turned in was not what I expected at all. I can’t tell you how many students wrote how much they appreciated me and my hard work. They noted my directions weren’t perfect, but they still appreciated me. And they still got so much out of all the sites. What? How? It was God’s way of telling me, “Chin up, my dear. You are relying too much on yourself.  There is no way this summer is going to work if you keep that up. No, this week wasn’t perfect. And you messed up a lot. You’re not perfect, but that’s okay because I am. And I will use all of your mistakes for good. And I did. And I will continue.” What started as the most discouraging week of my life ended with so much encouragement. I was so humbled. I fully expect more challenging weeks like this to come. Fortunately, God can use my mistakes as much as my victories.

Now I can look back say, “Hey, remember that time I accidentally led a group into New Jersey?” and laugh. I mean somebody had to cross that bridge first (pun intended).

But the group that comes in on Sunday doesn’t have to know about that. Thank God for fresh starts. Never again will I underestimate 2 Corinthians 5:17. The old has gone. The new has come. Because really, the new group is coming, and as far as they are concerned, I am a directions expert.

Band Names

I’m really into music, but that’s old news.  Does that count as a hobby? It’s all perspective. And that’s life.

Although, I do enjoy doing one particular thing that I know absolutely counts as a hobby. Obscure as it is, it is still a hobby nonetheless. In fact, I would love this to be my career, but who actually makes a living out of their obscure hobbies? Mark Zuckerberg (made a living out of screwing people over. Obscure enough? … I still love you Marky Z!) He is the exception, not the rule. I digress.

Anyway, I know you are squirming in your seats to read about my obscure hobby, so I won’t let you suffer any longer.

And that hobby would be…

Creating band names!  So. Much. Fun. And all humility aside, I would say that I am pretty rockin’ at it. (See what I did there?)  

The name is the heart and soul of a band. I mean who really cares about the music and lyrics anyway? Psh. It’s all about the name. Shakespeare didn’t know what he was talking about when he had Juliet say, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Does anything Juliet say really have any validity at all? Homegirl was 14, so I’m going to say no. Not to mention, she killed herself over a pretty boy. Girl, please. I digress again!

Band names. Heart and soul.

But really, people should hire me to do this stuff for them.

But since people are not hiring me to do this stuff for them, I have found other ways to put my hobby to use.

The most obvious way is that I create fake bands. Easy enough. I get real with the members. The Golden Rods are my love child. We have Luke Lawrence- lead vocalist and guitarist, Alex Banner on bass, Jared Uldridge rocks the keys, and Derek James owns the sticks. Solid band.

Another way I like to put to use band names- You are in a group of people and something happens that you feel the need to include your commentary, but you don’t want to be too blunt, so you throw out a band name.

For example, your friends Ricky and Leah have been extreme flirting all night. You’ve got the classic banter and the obvious tension.

So what do you say? “Hey guys, have you heard of that band Sexual Tension? They are owning it this year.”

Another example would be when you are talking to those people. And by those people, I mean the ones that you don’t really connect with at all and find yourself fighting the Mongols to make conversation. So what do you say? “Hey, this reminds me of this one song, ‘Forced’ by this amazing local band, Small Talk. Have you ever heard of them?”

Band names. They are great. Great for a band’s integrity. Great for conversation. Now if only people could pay me to do this. But they aren’t, so I’m in college, studying liberal arts.