Floor...

When my model days ended and it was time for me to begin my first day on the floor, Cyndi decided that my first one will be on Tuesday December 29th and then it’ll switch to Sundays. There are certain criteria I have to meet in order to earn my second day then more criteria to earn my third and fourth days. I work toward earning each day over the course of four weeks. The rest of the time, I’m assisting. I’m glad that my first day back to work after our Christmas break will be spent in Evanston cutting hair. I’m scared though. Scared of everything. There will be no more help from my educators. I don’t know what I’m going to walk into when I get there. I don’t know if my books are full. I’m nervous that I may not be able to handle a situation, or that I might get stuck on something and not know where to go from there. I stare out the window of the Unicorn Café, watching bundled up people walk by. Something a friend I met in OA told me pops in my head. We were both stressing about returning to our homes over Christmas and she told me to imagine God waiting for me at the terminal when I landed in Atlanta. Imagine him holding my hand through whatever it was that was scaring me. When she said this, an image of Rob smiling at me as I exited the terminal entered my mind and flooded my eyes with tears. Now sitting in the coffee shop, I begin to imagine that once I walk in the salon door, he’ll be standing at my station, never leaving me with something I’m not equipped to handle. Worrying about this isn’t solving anything. Maybe I’ll be booked, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll have crazy clients, maybe I won’t. I remind myself that the bottom line is that no matter what, things are going to happen the way they’re supposed to. I just can’t see the outcomes yet and that’s ok. I down the rest of my coffee, gather my things and head to the salon. “No help for you today!” My men’s educator George tells me upon walking in. “You’re on your own.” “Hey now. If something truly fucked up is going on in my chair, please feel free to lemme know.” I smile putting my things down. “Nope.” “George!” I reach over for my day sheet and nearly pass out. One hundred percent booked. Not one single opening. I put the sheet down, go to the bathroom and cry out of sheer relief and happiness. I spent all that time freaking out about not knowing what I’d walk into. It never occurred to me that I could walk into a full day. It was one of the best days I’ve had in Evanston. I race around at the speed of light, with a huge smile on my face. I am fully present in each moment, concentrating on nothing but the hair beneath my dermatitis encrusted fingers. I don’t feel it though. Nothing bad, negative or painful can penetrate through my ecstatic exterior. I’ve always loved hair. I’ve enjoyed my previous jobs, but this? This is something that is completely, totally, utterly out of this world. I never imagined my love for my job deepening as much as it has. I still view hair as a long term relationship. There are days where I love it, days where I never want to see another strand of hair again. Days that are hard, days that run so smoothly it ends as fast as it started. There are days where I’m not into it, days where it’s not really into me. There are times where I think about leaving hair, divorcing it so to speak to chase after something that appears sparklier, butI always come back. It always takes me back and I love it even more for that. This time though my deepening of love for the industry I believe stems from the fact that assisting is so difficult and I’ve wanted nothing more than to be on the other side again, responsible solely for my clients only and not everyone else’s. My day comes to and end. I’m happily exhausted putting my things away and pulling on all my extra layers of clothing before heading out to the train. I had plans tonight but decide to cancel. Charlie called but I have no energy left to call him right now. When the train starts moving I close my eyes and simply breathe.