Mo Pattern Baldness

I’m not fond of mirrors. Not because I’m a vampire and don’t see my reflection or anything weird like that. I just don’t like looking at myself.

If I had a consistent hair-cutter person, they would know that I never look in the mirror while they’re cutting my hair. So that show where they pull the hair on both sides of my head to show me that they’ve cut it evenly (or can control the rate of hair slipping through their pinched fingers so they both run out of hair at the same time) is wasted on me. Plus it would take 0.3 seconds to run out of hair on the sides of my head because it’s that short. It’s the kind of short where if you’re looking from the right angles, you can probably get a glimpse of my scalp (well, here, go see for yourself:  https://mobarrett.com/connect/ — Ok, don’t stare, that’s rude).

And maybe I miss something by not watching the mirrors while my hair is being cut because today I feel like the back of my neck has been nicked. So, the girl who doesn’t like ANY mirrors is now using TWO mirrors to try and see the back of her neck. Go big or go home, I sometimes say.

I run my hand against the direction of growth trying to find the source of pain. Well, actually, I first run it in the direction of growth because I’m new to mirror work and the reflection of the reflection is still mirrored and just as confusing since rights are lefts and ups are downs.

Anyway, once I familiarize myself with the reflective properties of reflected reflections, I resume my search for the cut.

The search is quickly called off, not because I find the cut, but because I find something worse.  

Way worse.

A bald spot.

I’m not talking about a breach in the hairline. I’m talking about an all-out mutiny by a large squadron of follicles.

Like any calm, rational adult discovering something unusual, I freak out and scream for anyone within earshot.

Jen comes flying into the bathroom as I demand answers from the mirror, her, or the other mirror.

How long has this been there?

Is it getting bigger?

Who has known about this?

Why hasn’t anyone told me about it?

Are there more follicle mutinies on board my scalp?

What caused this? 

Do I need to be fitted for a wig?

Should I wear more hats?

Is it hat-wearing that caused this in the first place?

Am I sick?

How long have I been sick?

How long do I have left to live?

Sigh.

I don’t know how long it’s been there but now that I know about it, I obsess about it. 

I pet my bald spot non-stop like it’s Buddha’s belly (minus any luck).

I spend more time in front (or back) of mirrors than I ever have, looking at my bald spot.

I make Jen take pictures of my bald spot with a ruler so I can gauge the status of the rebellion over time.

I’ve even named my bald spot.

Based on the size of this hair treason, this is not a new situation. It’s been growing (or not growing) for quite some time. Unbeknownst to me. 

For some, ignorance is bliss.  For me, ignorance is bald.

There’s a lot of stuff in this world I don’t know about. Skills I know I don’t have. Talents I haven’t developed. Information I’m not privy to.

Like my bald spot PM (pre-mirrors).

There are some things in life that garner more attention than they warrant once we’re aware of them.

Like my bald spot.

We need to keep up our awareness about the things going on around us (or on us).

We can obsess about the things we discover, even things that may be out of our control.

Or we can embrace the information we discover by petting it, watching it, photographing it and naming it.

Use your mirrors to check for bald spots. They might be in your blind spots.

PS: My bald spot’s name is Dwayne. As in Dwayne Johnson. If there’s anyone who makes bald look strong, sexy and cool, it’s The Rock.

PPS:  In the spirit of embracing my bald spot, my bestie has little google eyes for Dwayne.