Saint Linus

When I was 28 I decided to quit my life. Figuratively. Call it a quarter life crisis or crazy or brave or stupid or all of the above. Call it what you want, because the truth is, any of those things would be appropriate adjectives. However, no matter what you call it, it was the most terrifying thing I have ever done on purpose.

I was living in Oakland and hated everything about it. I hated having drug addicts sleeping on my porch and dealers hanging out in the park next door. I hated the sound of gunshots and the sound of shopping carts going down my block on trash night. I hated that this was the only kind of neighborhood I could afford to live in if I didn't want to commute, and I hated that my neighborhood was actually considered “decent.” To bring more pity to the party, I may as well throw in that I hated my job. I sat at a desk all day trying to convince myself that working in Human Resources was actually utilizing my Psychology Degree, and that I really was helping people. There are some lies you can tell yourself that you might end up believing one day but THAT wasn't one of them. Sure, the benefits were great and it paid the bills- and in the Bay Area, if you find a job that does both those things, you keep it – but at what cost? I got to the point that I dreaded going to work so much, that when I would walk in through the front doors, the first place I would go was the bathroom to throw up. My job didn't make the world a better place, it wasn't fulfilling, it didn't enrich my existence, it didn't make me a better person or contribute to any form of personal growth, and I knew I certainly wasn't going to make a career out of it. I'm not saying that there is anything wrong with Human Resources, and I understand the necessity of such professions, and I'm sure there are some people that are cut out for that kind of work, just like some people are cut out for accounting or bee keeping or being a used car salesman. It just wasn't for me. But at least I had a loving, supportive, wonderful boyfriend, right? Meh. Depending on what day of the week you asked. I had a guy who was my boyfriend and then wasn't and then was and then wasn't... It was exhausting, abusive, and just plain ridiculous. We were on-again, off-again so often we may as well have changed our names to Ross and Rachel.

Then one day in 2009, post breakup number 52 with aforementioned dude, it hit me: If I stay here, this is going to be the rest of my life. It won't ever change and I'll always live in neighborhoods like this one and work jobs that I hate and I'll keep breaking up and getting back together with this guy and I won't ever be happy with any of it. Really, I took a personal inventory of my life and the numbers just didn't match up. This wasn't what I had always wanted to do. What I HAD always wanted to do was live in Austin, TX and go to beauty school. So that's what I decided I would do: kill two gigantic birds with an even more gigantic stone. And when it got down to it, aside from my family, I had no real reason to stay in California. With my mind made up, I called my mom from work and said, verbatim, “I'm moving to Texas and going to beauty school.” Her reply? “OK.” I think she understood I needed a change just as much as I did. Moms are good like that. In fact, I think everyone knew I needed this since not a single person tried to talk me out of my decision. I'm also notoriously stubborn, so maybe they just knew that once my mind was made up, there wouldn't be anything they could do or say to change my it anyway... So I broke up with the Bay Area, broke up with my job, and broke up with my boyfriend. Again. I fit what belongings I could into my car, threw the rest on the curb, got my dog settled in for the road trip, and headed east. I had heard everything was bigger in Texas, and I was ready. Go big or go home, right? Never mind that I hadn't been there before or that I wouldn't know another living thing other than my dog. The way I figured, as long as I got there, the rest would fall into place. And it did, just not exactly the way I had imagined.

Some people start over because they have no choice. They get laid off or divorced or relocated for work, etc. I think very few people do it on purpose, and now I know why. It's absolutely terrifying to leave your comfort zone. We all want to go where everyone knows our name, right? However, I knew that in order for me to grow as a person and to find out who I really was, I had no choice but to venture out beyond the limits of comfortable and familiar. In retrospect, this ended up being more difficult and heartbreaking than my divorce, more challenging than getting sober, more work than graduating college with honors. It wasn't until I got here that I really realized what I was doing. My entire support system was now 1800 miles away, and I had to figure out how to be alone. And more importantly, how to like myself. I had no idea how painful any of that would be.

So here I am in Texas, more alone and lost and scared than I've ever been in my life. I don't even know how to find a Target, because rather than the GPS my mom offered to buy me as a going away present, I opted for the Tiffany necklace with my initial engraved instead.... After the initial excitement of being in a new place wore off, and the reality kicked in, all I could do was cry. For weeks. I couldn't just drive to my best friends house for a hug, or to my mom's for a home cooked meal. I didn't know how to get anywhere, and if you've ever been lost somewhere, you understand how helpless that can make you feel. And I was lost A LOT. I started to think this was maybe the worst decision I've ever made. My ever- supportive sister (please note the sarcasm in that) also let me know she thought it was the worst decision I had ever made. I began to fall apart. Figuratively and literally. My healthy 135 lbs dwindled to about 105—we'll call that booze weight. I'd wake up, drink until I fell asleep again, and then do it all over. An acquaintance told me I looked “gray.” Not blue, as in my mood, but gray as in, I was lacking nutrients to the point my skin tone lost its hue.

But if dogs are allowed into Sainthood, mine belongs there. For those first few weeks, I was not the best owner. Yes, he had food and water, but I could barely function enough to get in the shower, let alone give him the love and attention and exercise he deserves. However, his unconditional love for me kept me going, and I truly believe that I owe my life to him. There were countless days that I just felt so done, so exhausted, so sad and so depressed, that I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. When I say, “it,” I mean life. Now, depression wasn't a new thing for me, it's something I've battled he majority of my life, but this time it came back with such a vengeance I didn't think I would, or could, win. But I'd look at my dog and think, if I died, there would be no one to take care of him. If I killed myself, there's no one here to even come looking for me. Or him. And when someone finally did come looking, I had no guarantee that he would be placed in a loving, happy home. Not that his current situation was great, but at least he was fed on a daily basis. At my lowest point, and what ultimately may have been a turning point, I found myself sitting in my car with my dog, in front of the animal shelter, preparing to surrender him, so that if I chose to give up, I'd know he'd be alright. I couldn't do it. We turned around and came home. As ridiculous as it may sound, I kept going for him. Not for me, or my family, or my friends, but for this sweet little pup with the big brown eyes and that goofy, happy look on his face. He needed ME. Finally, I don't know how I did it, but I just got up and got going and decided enough was enough. I think it took everything in me to do it, but who cares. I was on my way back up! Basically, I put on my big girl panties and stopped having a pity party for myself.

School started about six weeks after I arrived in Austin. Almost immediately, I knew I had done the right thing. I could feel it. I poured myself into my education, absorbing everything I could, I relished in my new would-be career and fantasized about my amazing future. I joined school clubs and entered contests. I took pride in my work. I started believing in myself in a way that I hadn't done in a long, long time, and there was a shift in my motivation and a shift in my heart. I started getting out and exploring my city. I made friends. I found a coffee shop that made me feel at home. I started going to AA and Al-Anon and exploring and accepting the nature of my issues. I smiled more, and it was genuine. I found my faith in a God that had seemed so elusive for so many years. Some days were still tough, but the rough ones were fewer and far between.

After awhile, I was finally able to acknowledge the strength and courage I had as a woman, and I was able to see that my move wasn't dumb, but brave, and something not many people would dare to try. I started to understand that I had not been giving myself the credit I deserved. Not just in regards to my move and my new start, but in life as a whole. By November, the person I was meant to be really started to shine though, and the person I used to be started shrinking into the past. During my first visit home, I was at a family party when my uncle walked right past me without saying hello. A few moments later he came back and said that he hadn't even recognized me. It wasn't that I was any different physically, my hair was the same color, I wore the same clothes, etc... It was an internal change that was so radical that it had the power to change not only the way I saw the world, but how the world saw me. That floored me. Like. Wow. There is a light in me that is finally shining, and it's that powerful. If I had to choose between having all the money in the world to share freely, or being able to help people find their true selves, I'd take the latter. The more I believed in myself, the more I wanted to share that and to help others to achieve that same feeling. I made every effort to be a good leader to incoming students and younger classmates, mentoring them when able, helping as often as I could. I wanted to set a good example. On my final day of school, a younger classmate came up to me in private, and said, “I hope to be like you one day. You have been such an inspiration to me. Thank you.” There are no words to describe how that made me feel, but I knew that it meant I was doing something right, and not just for myself. That's an incredible feeling.

The state of Texas requires 1500 hours of school to be completed before you are eligible to take your state board. 1500 hours. I attended night school for the majority of it, working at a coffee shop from 530am until 1, then went to school from 5pm until 10. I graduated in April 2011. During the course of my education, mentors seemed to be placed in front of me, opportunity seemed to be at every corner, and my passion for the industry grew exponentially. I made the most of those 1500 hours, because why not?! I had the privilege of working backstage during Fashion Week in New Orleans, I had the honor of being selected as a student stylist for a hair show, which allowed me to work side by side with some of the most respected names in my profession. I met John Paul DeJoria, of Paul Mitchell. More importantly, I learned that a positive attitude will get you much further in life than most things, and I learned the value of giving back and helping others, which was worth every penny of my tuition, and not something I had anticipated learning in beauty school. However, my biggest surprise came about 6 weeks prior to graduation, when I heard a guest artist speak at an event for students. She is one of the leading men's stylist in the country, and even though I had spent 1400 hours imagining myself working in a big, fancy salon doing big, fancy women's hair, I became boy crazy. Well, boy-hair-crazy. Talk about being blindsided!

So, this is great, I know what I want to do with my life, but no men come in to beauty school to get haircuts, and I didn't have any male friends in Austin, and practicing men's cuts on doll heads isn't even close to the same thing as a real head of hair. I mean, it was better than nothing, and I would grab all the unwanted mannequin heads from school and watch youtube videos and fade the crap out of these dolls, but it still wasn't what I needed. I had a few male neighbors that lent me their coifs, and I am grateful for their trust in me. Then my ingenuity kicked in, and I got creative. Maybe it was out of the spirit of determination, or out of wanting to help others, or maybe both, but it dawned on me that homeless men don't exactly make it a priority to go to the barber shop. So I brought the barber shop to them in the form of the lawn of a gas station. Hey. Practice is practice.

By the time I graduated, I had an interview lined up at a well known barber shop. I didn't get the job. They loved my attitude and my passion, but was told to get a little more experience and come back. A few weeks later, I applied for a job at a different barber shop, with maybe a cut or two's worth of “more experience” and I think my conversation with the hiring manager went something like this: “I don't know what I'm doing and I'm not going to pretend I'm better than what I am. I've only done a handful of men's haircuts, I just graduated from beauty school and I know you need someone with at least a year of experience, but look, I've spent hours working on doll heads and watching youtube videos. I have found “clients” in the most unexpected of places. This is what I want to do, and I can learn, and I will be one of the most dedicated employees you will ever have.” I got the job. In fact, I still have the job, and our barber shop was just voted the Best in Austin in a local publication. How's that for following a dream?

It's a pretty cool feeling knowing that you are where you are supposed to be and doing what you are supposed to be doing. For now. I don't believe that this is all I have in store for me, although if it was, I couldn't complain. I am happy, I like myself, my job is fun and fulfilling and has given way to an amazing volunteer opportunity involving equine therapy for post war veterans. I live in a beautiful neighborhood, have great friends, and I get to wear a t-shirt about 300 days a year. I have more than I could ever hope for. Well... A loving boyfriend would be nice, but everything in it's own time. Moving to Austin and going through beauty school was the start of a new, exciting life full of promise. Working in the “Best Barbershop in Austin” is a platform from which to dive into my next adventure. I plan on opening my own barber shop within the next two years or so, and through that, my goal is to start a scholarship/mentor program to send at-risk adolescents through the Barber program, and to give to them what others have given to me: encouragement. Ultimately, my success over the last few years came from a place within, but I think the support and patience and grace of those around me helped me find it. I am blessed to be surrounded by a wonderful circle of family, friends, coworkers, and clients that it sometimes moves me to tears. Everything I do in the future, I will do out of love and gratitude for them. And for my dog, St. Linus.