A New Year’s Parable (That Really Happened)

A couple years ago, I woke up New Year’s Day only mildly hungover, with an itch for big change.

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I padded down to the bathroom, stared at myself in the vanity (squinted, really…those lights! so bright! my poor head!), and without missing a beat grabbed the little scissors reserved for the beard of the man who lived in that house.

I started snipping. Snipping turned to hacking. The sink filled and fluffed as if with the scavenging haul of a manic, nesting-crazed bird.

When I was done scratching the itch, I scrambled back up the stairs with my messy, punky, uneven, life-changing head of hair. The man in the house was nonplussed.

I didn’t care, didn’t know what to think, hadn’t been thinking yet, really. It was only the first wee hours of the New Year, after all, and those hours resound with the magnanimous bounce of Anything Goes. Anything could go.

All I knew was that I was brimming with potential energy,  a coiled spring ready for more impulsive, unthinkable boings. Big change.

And so when a little while later it appeared that he of the beard had been silently itching for the most unthinkable change, for years, even…the spring coiled tighter and she of the bird’s nest coiffure flew the coop, kinetic at last.

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