a remembering

When I was about 10 years old, my mother cut all of my hair off. I’ve always had incredibly thick hair, and my mom decided that it was just too much to handle, for me or for her, so off it came. And although it meant that most strangers thought I was a boy (this drove me nuts), I couldn’t deny that having such short hair was freeing — not having to worry about an hours-long wash session (especially after swimming in the sea), or taking too long to get ready in the morning — it was fantastic.

*Me, about 3 years before that first haircut, c. 1974, at home in Trinidad. (I’m on the left, with my dad and my little sister, Natalie.)*

Eventually, I got bored with it and grew it back out again. But over the years, I’ve found myself returning to really short hair again and again, usually after major events in my life: breaking up with a boyfriend. An international move. Graduating from law school. A hurricane. What’s weird is that I rarely think about it for very long before cutting it. Usually, I just wake up overwhelmed by the need to get all the hair off my head, as if one more day of living with my hair would make life intolerable. Within 24 hours, I’ve made an appointment and my hair is gone.

*Soon after moving back to Trinidad with Marcus and Alex, c. 2005.*

About 2 months ago, I cut my hair off again.

What’s interesting this time, though, is that there really hasn’t been any major event that precipitated my cutting it off. I’ve always thought that the reason behind cutting it was somehow about releasing old or bad juju — getting rid of the dregs of a bad relationship or old habits, that sort of thing. But that’s not what it feels like this time. It feels more like a remembering — somehow returning to the core of who I am. And cutting my hair short, it turns out, is how I often return to feeling most me.

Last year I was gearing up for the promotion of Radiant Rebellion, which meant that I was in full promotion mode: spending a lot of time on social media, appearing on various media outlets, that sort of thing. After the book was finally released and the holidays were over, I think I had a bit of what Brené Brown has called a “vulnerability hangover” — being online as much as I had was exhausting. I realize this is rich, coming from someone who has been online in some form or fashion for over twenty years. But the truth is that when I began in the early aughts, my being online was far more about a writing and a photography practice than it was about “gaining an audience.” It’s why, I think, blogging and, now, Substack, have always remained dear to my heart: the ability to express in long form feels, somehow, less performative than traditional social media platforms. More creative and less consumptive. And besides, these days, I’m more interested in living offline than performing online.

So, I’m not sure why this precipitated a drastic haircut, or what this means for me going forward. But it feels like a pull to returning to who I was before social media, a remembering, so that I can more accurately gauge where I’m going next. I do know that the five months that I’ve been sending a weekly Substack post have felt like a returning, just like cutting my hair off has, so that’s not going anywhere. I’m working on another book, and as challenging as that is (who was it who said, “I hate writing, but I love having written”?), writing feels core to who I am. I have several speaking engagements coming up (including at the ALT Summit next week — will I see you there?) and I’ve recently returned to one-on-one coaching, which feels like a return to connection. So these are all good. Life and work are feeling exciting, and full of potential.

But my relationship with social media? I’m not sure where that’s going. Maybe it’s slowing.

I’ll keep you posted. And I’d love to hear if you’re feeling the same way, too — have you noticed a disenchantment with your relationship to being online? Has the way you engage with friends and family online changed? How are you changing?