I don't remember the exact day that it happened. Actually, I don't think it could have happened overnight. All I know is that I had straight hair until I was a senior and I've had curly hair in college.
Sure, it was always wavy, but it didn't look like I had electrocuted myself when I woke up. And yes, it would hold curls, but it definitely didn't hold so much humidity that it felt like a rain forest was on my neck. (I swear monkeys swing from my curls some days.)
Why does it matter?
Well, it really doesn't. Except I really like my curls.
And it's taught me to deal with change.
My curls are like all the other changes in my life: unexpected, out of control, and in your face. My hair is a shallow representation of all the other change that I've experienced. They made me miserable at first. I would try and try to go back to the way things used to be, and it was impossible. The change would spring back into place, and I'd be stuck dealing with it. I found that I could tame it, but only if I did the exact right thing at the exact right time. Or else I'd just be stuck with a huge mess.
So, how is my relationship with my curls now? Oh it's good. We generally play well together. Sometimes they are bad and have to go to ponytail jail, but they usually get parole pretty soon.
The only problem with this whole analogy is that my curls aren't a completely accurate representation of changes. My curls, they are a change in me, in who I am. Many changes are changes that I cannot even begin to manage. I'm still formulating thoughts on how to approach that topic.
More to come...
[photos are not of my actual hair. it's not on parole today. these are well-behaved citizens found at weheartit.]