A Choice Paused in Front of the Mirror

Scenes

• I can choose my hair only after checking the sign — In the early evening, sitting before the salon mirror, I check the day’s sign before thinking about the hair I want. It feels as though the scissors can only move on a good day.
• I look for a good day before the hair I want — When the stylist asks what they should do, I can’t answer right away. Even when I find a style I like, I worry I’ll regret it if today isn’t the right day.
• My hand stops at the question, “How would you like it?” — After sitting in the chair, I open my phone again and check the sign. The stylist waits, and I swallow the words for the haircut I always get.
• The sign isn’t an answer; it’s a marker for looking at today — When I look at the sign, I’m not trying to let it decide the day for me. If I cling to the marker as though it were the answer, even the words I want to say end up waiting for permission from a good day.
• Write down one thing you want to choose in front of the mirror — Tonight, before unfolding the sign, look in the mirror and write down one thing you want to change. You don’t have to decide right away; make a place where your words can come first.
• Even if I waver again next time, I can start over — It’s okay if a day comes when you want to look at the sign again. The wooden plaque is only a marker hanging on the door; what you choose today is still in your hands.