It's Friday. And my toddler is sleeping. Down the rabbit hole we go, for the express purpose of a catch-all post to talk about a few different things...
Thanks to a few different sources, I have become Everest obsessed. Realistically and figuratively. In the very real sense, I know I will never climb Everest... or any of the Himalaya for that matter. This all probably started years ago, when I had my teeth removed before my braces were installed. In both instances, my mother and I would leave the dentist's office and drop by the local video store. One of those trips, I picked up two movies that forever changed how I look at the world. One was Seven Years in Tibet. My brother and I still intentionally misquote a line from the movie where Pitt's character is sitting in the train as, "It's Princess Leia!" (Actually, "It's the Himalaya!") For a kid filled with wanderlust, this movie captured so much of my imagination. (I always think of wanderlust as this huge, wonderful, beautiful, melancholic emptiness inside my chest. It looks like the plains in Texas. And it can only be sated and filled with new places and things, far and near, large and small.)
More recently, friends have contributed to my book list with recommendations for books like Into Thin Air by Krakauer. Which has fed into watching every blessed documentary about Everest, K2, and the like I can find. I've always loved mountains. I grew up obsessed with them, looking out to the outskirts of El Paso and seeing them loom in the distance. Obsessed. So now, here I am, thirty, and longing for the capstones of the earth, wishing only to see them...
Perhaps that has fed into my latest sports affinity in some way. For Valentine's Day, Paul and I went to the indoor climbing gym. It was my first time, and I knew I'd either loathe or love it. And of course, I loved it. It's high. Which makes my heart beat hard. I had the expectation it would be in a bad way. But it's good. I like the mental challenge, combined with the physicality. Paul still kicks my butt. It's teaching me to be sure of myself and to trust myself.
And finally, in a right hand turn at a four way stop from where we were, I find myself compelled to address what I've been doing with my hair. A little history: for almost ten years, I've washed my hair four times a week at most. Sometimes I might go a month. This worked for me for a long time. Until the past six months, probably. I started feeling like whether I washed my hair or didn't wash it, it looked terrible. Lackluster, flat, frizzy... and no good solution presented itself.
About a month ago, I was on the verge of getting my hair cut. I was mostly holding out for my best friend's wedding in May, then it was all going to have to go. I happened upon something about the no-poo method on pinterest, and went from there. A month later, my hair looks *good*. It looks healthy, it's growing well. My hair has never looked like this when it's long...
No-poo is easy and ridiculously cheap. Baking soda to wash your hair, and recommended for conditioning is vinegar. I've had a tough time reconciling myself to the vinegar. I struggled for the first couple weeks with a vinegar smell emanating from my locks when I was working out, and I didn't feel like I was getting the conditioning I needed. In the end, I've returned to conditioner. Now, though, I use it just on the very tips of my hair, and eventually I'll drop it entirely. My sole complaint is that in the period of normalization that is necessary for your hair to balance its oil production, your hair looks pretty rough. But it's worth it. I promise. Just as all things that are hard are worth doing, so is this :)
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