An Interview With Jamie Ridler

This is so inspiring.

An Interview With Jamie Ridler by the blog Your Courageous Life

For those of us who love shiny things

Hair News

I recently splurged on myself and got a Brazilian Blowout.
I was talking to friends about it at a pool party July 4th, and someone said it was worthwhile to spend money on your hair.
After all, when your hair looks good, you feel good.
So I was motivated to give it a try.

My hair is naturally wavy, but I tend to like it best when it's dried straight.
The problem is that I just never want to take the time to labor over a blow dryer (much less a flat iron).
I tend to just let it air dry, but then it has a tendency to frizz, and that's so not attractive.

Before:
I actually did blow dry here, only kind of half-assed in the back.
The split ends are ridiculous.

After:
This pic looks a lot like my hair cut way back in December (way too long ago. The blog post is actually the first time I started seeing this particular stylist), but it was only flat-ironed then.
This is having a keratin conditioning treatment ironed in.

You can't really tell in the photo, but my stylist refused to add highlights this time (I loved what he did last time) because it's too damaging.
Instead, he added lowlights, to mimic the look of highlights
I have to admit I'm not happy with the color this time--it feels too dark and flat.
My natural color is strawberry blonde, and the stylist usually does a great job of getting my hair back to its natural color.
Age, unfortunately, makes it too ashy (and some grays too, sigh...).
I need to trim more off the length next time too.
What I really need is a STYLE, but I haven't a clue what that should be.

So was the Brazilian worth it?
Well, yes and no.
First off, my stylist gave me a special deal, so it wasn't the $350 to $650 usual price (gasp!).
Initially, I felt like (to quote my mom) a drowned rat.
The treatment left my hair limp and lifeless and too flat on my head.
As I've washed it though, the body has returned, but without the frizz, so I like that.
For that reason, I'll probably do it again in four months (the length of time this is supposed to last).
And yeah, I still often just let it air dry, but now it's drying a lot nicer and tamer, so that's a good thing.

Mirror, mirror....

Lately I feel as if a number of situations are coming together...conspiring with the universe...to make me take notice.
Have you ever stumbled across a comment from a stranger, or a phrase in a book, or something that just seems more than coincidence?
Like all these things, these blips, are part of a puzzle, or pieces in the game of life that God intends for you to see, to feel, to learn?

I've been very introspective lately.
Not so unusual for me maybe, but I've been even more introspective than usual.
I have been an emotional dishrag.
And because I've said many times that blogs are journals that should reflect our real selves, that should delve below the surface...well, it would be pretty hypocritical of me if I didn't occasionally stop here to ponder.
It is still scary, however, to give my feelings a voice.

There are certain things I believe--things that I know to be true--either from a common sense standpoint or my own experience.
Yet in reality, in my own life practice, sometimes I fail to follow these beliefs. Sometimes I hold back subconsciously.
I always say that the body will let you know when something in your life is off.
The body will identify stress and make a part weak, or sick.
It will say, "Kaboom!" if you have a issue that you need to address.

The problem, in my opinion, with today's medical philosophies is that we are inclined to pop painkillers when our bodies ache, anti-depressants when our hearts ache, and schedule surgeries when body parts aren't shiny and new.
We have forgotten how to listen to our signals.
Pains and aches aren't meant to be silenced, but meant to engender response.
To feel. To care for our own needs.

In November of 2003, my father died. Even now I rarely talk about his passing.
Even now I have not ironed out my grief.
Even now the wound still bleeds.
In 2003 I was a size 6. I still felt fat.
In October of 2004, my boyfriend of four years pulled a surprise exit.
My grief expanded. So did my body size.

Fast forward to 2009, and I wear a size 14. At least.
I do not envision myself as fat.
I am always shocked when I see myself in the mirror.
I do not recognize myself. I do not like what I see.
Why do I not feel heavy when I am, and feel fat when I am not?

I have not been in the state of mind to motivate myself to change back to my "normal" self. Why?
I have theorized that subconsciously I gained weight on purpose, in both an attempt to find a man who wasn't concerned with "trivial" stuff like appearance, but also because weight acted as a shield against creepy men or creepy comments, or the possibility of being rejected again.
As much as I preach that I do not want my life to be crippled by fear, fear molds me.

Tonight I watched a documentary of the making of the Broadway musical "In the Heights".
The play was the making of a dream for the cast, the writer, and the director.
At one point an actor said, "Fear is the thing that controls everything in this world. Not God, not love...fear."

Sometimes I feel like I'm 20 years old again, faced with a multitude of choices.
I am still standing at that crossroads, but the intersection is in the middle of the freeway, and all around me life is zooming past.
Zoom, zoom...I am stuck not knowing where to step.
So I have not stepped at all.
Fear of change, of success or of failure. Who knows. Fear.

I have started listening to audio books when I drive, or while I sit for long periods of time sewing.
The last book I heard was "Speak", about a 13 year old girl who is raped, and reacts by becoming mute. By retreating into herself.

If my reactions are silent, my body is not.
About two years ago, I started experiencing problems with fatigue and pain in my right hip.
Last year I finally sought relief by a chiropractor.
He helped, but at too great a cost (literally. I couldn't afford him).
So I recently started going to physical therapy. The therapists also address women's health issues.
These therapists use methods that are rarely (sadly) practiced anymore: manual manipulation.
They use their hands, and they feel.
This is what being an Osteopath used to be. This is a lost art.
The body has a language, but we have forgotten the verbs.

Today the therapist felt my right hip restricting, the organs within tight and unmoving.
Then she said something to me that gathered all these separate blips into one concrete whole.
She had me undress, and when she walked back in the room, she commented about my body language.
Ah, the body talks in so many ways.
Feet crossed, arms crossed...
so many ways we can hollow ourselves out--to become invisible.
It is a language of protection.

I didn't realize I was doing that.
I didn't realize I was afraid. That fear holds me back.
My body is telling me...has been telling me for a long time.
In many ways, I am numb. I am deadened. I am hazy.
But my body is yelling at me to change.

Yes, I have experienced abuse, but it was many years ago.
Yes, I am the epitome of lost dreams and confusion.
I'm not going to whine and tell you that I've had a bad life, because I haven't.
Ironically, when my head hits the pillow I am mostly content.
Why and what do I fear?

I think, perhaps, I am a very sensitive person, and every mean comment, every friend who turned and walked away, every man who lied to me...it all piled up like bits of newspaper coated in paste and covered me in paper mache.
Now I have to find whatever it is I need to break open the pinata...to allow the treasures within to shine again.
If I find that something...I'll let you know.
But I seem to see light filtering through up ahead.

Step one: hair cut (Before and After)

I posted recently about self improvement.
I started getting my aches and pains in check with the chiropractor.
Exercise--uh, not yet. But I do start a swim class at the end of the month.
New room as more pleasant environment--getting there also. That one has been way too slow a process.

So now comes appearance.
I have spent the last couple of years really working on the inside.
Emptying the baggage, as it were.
Now I'm really quite content, but I have this interior that doesn't match the exterior.
I've gained weight, I just haven't really cared anymore.
Granted, it has been a really tight year on funds (things like facials, pedicures, massages, etc, are a luxury) but still.

So that has to change.
It is more than time.
Step one--get my hair cut.

I hadn't cut my hair in ten months, and even then he didn't really do much.
I was fearing that I was starting to look like one of those "older" ladies--the granola ones with long scraggly hair and too many greys that sort of frizz around the head.
Eewww.
It's more than time I paid attention to how I feel and how I look and how I present myself to the world.

This time I chose an honest to goodness stylist--it was a treat to myself.
Before picture (you'll have to click on the images if you want to enlarge--Flickr isn't wanting to size these to fit)

My hair is longer than it appears here, in that it's hanging over the chair.
Those ends reached almost to my waist.
That's my natural color, but with too many greys for my liking.
I LIKE my natural color, and I hate to mess with it chemically, especially since it's such a tough shade to get right, but my hair has gotten more ashy as I've gotten older, and looks horrendous with grey.
People with black hair who get grey might look more interesting.
My hair with grey...not so much.

No one else seemed to notice the grey, but I sure did.
I usually just let it air dry, so that's natural wave.

First trim, to get the ragged ends off

Already a huge improvement.
I'm not a fan of rounded styles, and that's kind-of what I had before (you know, where the hair is kind-of a U-shape, and the middle back in longest).

After!

Shorter and darker than the picture may indicate.
Remember, here it's blow-dried and flat ironed.
He cut at least six inches off, perhaps more (it sure feels like more--that part takes some getting used to).
So no more twisting and tying it into a knot--it's not long enough for that anymore.
But that's okay. Really.
He matched the natural color underneath at my neck, then called it my "natural color kicked up a notch".
It's super shiny and feels really soft and healthy now. He also colored my brows a shade darker. The front has some layers around my face.
He initially planned to do long layers all around, then decided to take it slow and just do the front for now.
Gain my trust, as it were, since this is the first time he has cut my hair.
Today I'm going to experiment with letting it air dry and see how that looks.
I don't usually blow dry every day--just too time consuming.

My friends said I looked ten years younger.
My mom greeted me with, "I thought you were going to get your hair cut".
Uh, HELLO!
Then she said it looked more like eight inches were cut off, but she didn't like the straight style.
Sigh...

Initially I had planned to donate my hair to cancer patients, but you have to give a bigger chunk--like 12 inches.
I just couldn't get myself to go that short.
Hair length has become both a part of my identity and somewhat of a shield.
The stylist actually said he cut 12 inches off, but I think he may have been joking.
It's possible though.
Maybe I should have mentioned I wanted to donate.
Too late now.

It really is a huge step in the right direction though.
I don't know why I waited so long.

Time just zooms by...

Jeez, already several days since my last post.
I just feel overwhelmed lately.

I have an odd living arrangement, in that it's basically a transient one.
I move from one person's house to another.
There are pros and cons.
I mean, I love the doggies and the people I've met who are now more friends than clients.
On the con side, most of my personal stuff is in storage.
I think I'd prefer a dream home and and a family, but it is what it is.
This situation also translates to creative financing--in this expensive San Diego market, I don't have to pay rent.

Anyway, on the days here and there that are gaps between dog-sitting jobs, I stay at my mom's house.
My stay, however, has not really been one of sanctuary.
In other words, I have a room, but it's not mine.
In it are my mom's things, my mom's furniture, etc.

I am changing that finally.
One of my client's (well, friends actually) upgraded.
The cool thing about being in homes all over the place, is that I keep up-to-date on trends.
I mean, how else would I know that bathroom mirrors are currently in picture frames, and wood preference has turned to dark hues?

Well, the guest bedroom in their house was light wood furniture they had had awhile.
They upgraded to a dark sleigh bed, a vanity, and matching dressers.
So I bought (well, actually I traded future sitting services) the old stuff.
I actually like the light wood, but in the event I change my mind, the finish could certainly be stained or painted.
The design itself, however, is timeless--simple, uncluttered lines.

I got a long dresser, a smaller tall dresser, one small side table, a headboard and matching footboard...all for $300.
Jen also gave me all her old bedding--two comforter sets, matching sheets, towels, throw rugs.
Pretty darned nifty.

New (to me) furniture deserves a room update.
So all my time lately has been emptying the room, prepping for paint.
It's exciting but time consuming.
I will update in another post soon--with before and after images.

I'm hoping the availability of a more organized, serene environment will engender me to be more creatively productive.

Should I????

I want to ask those people that know me well if I should cut my nearly waist-length hair to something like this style (that's the lovely Kate Walsh from Private Practice)