I’m watching Dee in the mirror. Her furrowed brow is in deep concentration as she struggles to comb out the rat’s nest on my head.
“My hair is splitting and tangling into tiny little knots when it’s wet. I can hardly comb it,” I whine just to appease her scowling expression.
Lips pursed and eyes intense, Dee returns my gaze in the mirror. “I agree that it’s overprocessed and I’m going to give you rich chocolate low lights in funky places because the Jennifer Aniston look is outdated and you need modern.” My mouth slightly ajar, I feel a little embarrassed for reintroducing the Friends look. I want to cry out and plea, “you were overbooked! I had no choice but to go to her.”
“This, however,” dangling the wide-toothed comb with a chunk of entangled straw-like strands extruding within centimeters of my nose, “is just shedding.” I imagine a Golden Retriever. But with softer and silkier hair than mine.
“I clean up a ton of hair from my bathroom floor these days,” I assure her. This was not a slight exaggeration either. Some days I’m wiping up tissue wads of the damaged protein two or three times, blasting through rolls of toilet paper.
“Your body could be going through a change. That’s all,” she shrugs.
“Well, I am turning 30 next week,” I laugh. Face alit, Dee looks me square in the eyes.
“That’s it! You are experiencing your Saturn Return.” Huh?
“In astrology, your first Saturn Return takes 29.5 years to complete one full orbit around the sun. For me, I was going through a divorce and still battling a drug addiction at your age,” she explains while slurping her kale juice, as I admire her smooth and spotless complexion, skin better than most 25-year-olds.
You see, Dee, now 42, the ex-junkie and jobless single mom faced her Saturn Return crisis with guts and glory, to become the green juicing queen and yoga addict, not to mention, most popular hair stylist in town. But it’s never easy. And, in this life, we all relapse from time to time. Most of us rise to the occasion and struggle but accept adulthood. (I said most of us). It’s Saturn Return’s ploy.
“With you, I can feel a more confident aura and sense of contentment. In your mid-20s, since I’ve known you, you were kind of flighty and like, whatever,” she mimicks a dizzy blonde cheerleader, “but now you don’t waste your time on shit that isn’t important to you,” Dee smiles, wrapping the last tin foil at the base of my skull.
I tinker with this psychological analysis for just a second. It’s true though. I’ve come to accept where I am in my life, right now, right at this present moment. Does turning 30 mean knocking out the bull shit of excess and people who waste your time or does it mean that you consciously choose, through life experiences up to this present moment, who will sit in your passenger seat and what gets prioritized to the back seats, including your ego, and what stuff you’ll accumulate in the trunk?
“Whoever said get comfortable with being uncomfortable is really stupid,” Dee interjects my deep thoughts.”This mess,” she points to her disheveled shelves of tools spilling out of wicker baskets and capless hair products haphazardly strewn in nooks and crannies, “is getting a makeover. I just ordered a new cart from Amazon for all my hair supplies.This professional organizer I do yoga with is going to sort all my junk. She’s amazing at decluttering.” She motions for me to move under the dryer.
Get comfortable with being uncomfortable. How about that for a second Saturn Return?