It had been one of those days. One of the crazy, pre-holiday rush with a million-errands-to-do-and-I've-got-two-papers-to-write-still-before-I-can-pack-and-leave-town days. I'd picked this day to get my hair cut down at Fantastic Sam's, a hair salon between Nampa and Caldwell that I was drawn to not just because of the name (because really, who doesn't want to go someplace Fantastic?) but for the nostalgia. It was the place where I'd decided to be crazy and get bangs for the first time in a dozen years, and the place where I dyed my hair right before my wedding. It is a place of new beginnings.
The friendly woman who greeted me at the front desk introduced me to my hairdresser, a lovely lady with a short, red-dyed "do." In short order she pointed out two of my mistakes--I was wearing a hoodie (which made it difficult to cut hair) and I'd been abusing my hair too much with a brush, which she could tell immediately from the wealth of split-ends I'd acquired. I took off the hoodie and felt kind of sheepish about the brushing, wondering if she hated working with clients that had damaged hair.
Whenever I'm in a setting where something on my person is being "done" (think dentist, doctor's office, optometrist, etc.) I can't stand the silence. It seems strange to me to spend an hour or so in close proximity with someone else and not leave with a better sense of who the other person is. As the woman worked on my hair we chatted back and forth about random things. Finally I asked her my favorite question: "what made you want to be ___?" (In this case, a hair-stylist). Her entire face lit up as if she'd been waiting for that question since I walked in.
She spoke passionately about her love of hair, from the time she was a child and played with her cousin's hair or pretended to shave her dad's head to her days in college studying cosmetology. After a few odd-jobs she always came back to this--the one place that she never had to steel herself to go to each morning. "I get tired, but never worn-out," she said, and her eyes shone with the light of someone doing something they loved, and doing it well.
People shine. This is one of those moments that a journalist lives for in an interview; that a writer can't help but be inspired by. For the rest of the day I watched other people shine: the man at Jiffy Lube who wished everyone a Merry Christmas with oil on his hands and a grin on his face (while his coworkers scowled in the background). The woman making faces at her son in the shopping cart. The lady at the Salvation Army who volunteers her time every week. It's not a metaphorical light or a figure of speech.These individuals literally shine with an inner satisfaction and peace that the rest of us--the confused, the fuck-ups, the "I have no idea where I'm going in life but I'm getting there someday"--watch with awe.
Over the upcoming holiday break I invite you to pick out the people in your life who shine, and find a way to tell them you think they're pretty awesome =) Chances are, you might be shining for someone else right this moment
*image by myself*
