I got a hair cut the other day.

Tina, who I have been seeing for a few years, kept me waiting an unusually long time. Under the pressure of her fingertips on my scalp and the tickle of lather around my face, my irritation at having to wait melted away during the shampoo.

Intoxicated by the smells of the salon (fortunately no one got a color job that day), with my wet hair piled on my head in a towel turban, wearing one of those loose fitting maroon smocks, she led me to a chair.

As if on cue, she asked me the same questions she always asks, What would like me to do? How much do you want me to take off?

My answers are pretty predictable, although I like being asked.

“Just a trim,” I responded. “It doesn’t matter if you take off a half-inch or more. I just want my hair to look fuller. I want it to hang better.”

As she gathered the top layers with clips so she could start trimming the hair by my neck, Tina tried to engage me in light banter.   “How’s work?” she asked “Do you have plans for the weekend?”

I glanced at the floor and watched as strands of damp hair fell to the tile. I began to think about cutting my hair, or releasing anything, as a way to make way for new growth.

Just this past week, I could see growth in different ways.

I have been going ahead with plans to take a vacation with a friend. Not really a big deal, yet in the past, always worried about money, I might not have made such a commitment. It used to be harder to trust that work will be around when I am done taking time for myself.

I had been contemplating working with a coach to help me reach some personal objectives. I met with someone and decided not move ahead with her because I trusted my feelings that we were not the best possible match.

…And I had an encounter with my ex and his new girlfriend at a social function. While I’ve been clear in my own mind that I wish him well and have known that he’s been dating, this encounter made the idea of moving on very real.

Encounters with my ex always seem to bring up a complex mixture of feelings. I genuinely want him to be happy. Oddly, I found it very easy to talk to him and his girlfriend about what was immediately in front of us. We remarked on how to find the chunks of avocado hidden at the bottom of the salad bowl and opinionated on whether the wine available at the gathering was any good.

But I still get upset thinking about times during our relationship when he didn’t treat me very well. I felt like I had come a long way, but I suppose I still have more letting go to do.

With each snip of the scissors, and each feather of hair that fell to the floor, I thought about how my trimmed hair will hang better and frame my face more attractively. I thought about how some things have to be cut away in order for new growth to take place.

Having an image to act as a metaphor for the benefits of letting go is no small thing.