Not There Yet

Every day in every way, I am getting better and better. So maintained early 20th century French psychologist Émile Coué, who made up this mantra, claiming it would boost overall well-being.

I first heard it as a kid and invoked it as I persisted through tennis lessons or weeks on the Weight Watchers diet. It definitely fucked me up in terms of swallowing how I really felt about anything but focused me on the outcome. To buy into the notion that self-improvement was a matter of grinding tenacity goosed by the power of positive thinking was to feel the nobility in the struggle.  

This is a big introduction to a small story. I cut my hair a year ago, and have been chopping away at it since, finally settling on a final cut. For the past while, my hair is no longer a journey, but a destination. Every six weeks I get it trimmed, landing me back where I started. It’s really bumming me out.

So, I am growing my hair out again. I have been warned that it’s going to look awful, and I can’t wait. I guess I want to be an ongoing work in dubious progress. Getting better and better every day used to inspire me when I was young and aspirational. Now, I am who I am, and I just don’t want this crazy ride to be over.