Stylist for Rent...

A Cut Above or Into Thin Hair?

I've always been pretty flexible...meaning that I am willing to adapt to and accommodate any situation where my services need to be rendered.  Basically, I'm up for the challenge.  As a hair stylist there are two essentials needed to be successful anywhere in the world:  the ability and the tools.  One of which fits nicely in my head and the other can be carried around in a convenient, non-effeminate shoulder bag. I've never gotten hung-up on the particulars of where I cut hair and I believe this has served me well both in the States and in Ecuador.  

Two thoughts occurred to me the other day as I was walking back down the mountain from a hair appointment:  1) This is pretty crazy and 2) How the heck did I get here?  I'm pretty sure I wondered both of those things out loud.  The walk back down to our house in the valley was amazing and (literally) breathtaking.  It was twenty minutes of rough gravel and cobblestone road carved out of the foothills winding through two, maybe three, small indigenous villages.  I smiled as I walked and said my obligatory "holas" and "buenas tardes" to everyone I passed along the way.  As I huffed and puffed, like the little engine who could and coolly sweated through my black shirt with my ten to fifteen pounds of gear slung around my chest, those two thoughts emerged.  This is pretty crazy that I am in Ecuador wandering the countryside and surrounding villages cutting hair in people's homes.  Sure, the extra money is great and I do love meeting new people, but it is indeed crazy, nonetheless.  How the heck did I get here?  Well, that question offered me a few moments of reflection and great memories.

It all began innocently enough sitting on the bathroom counter of my mom and dad's house.  The first cut is always the hardest...fortunately, I was my first client.  As I carefully watched my hands and scissors while trying to synch them to the reflection in the mirror, history was made.  As far as I can recall, I was satisfied with the result and realized that I had some confidence in the ability to not screw up my hair.  The dates are a little fuzzy, but I'm going to say this was 1990ish.  Hair styles around that time were just beginning to transition from Bon Jovi to Nirvana.  Pretty much going from horrible to horrible.  So, in hindsight, it didn't matter what my hair looked like.

After that fateful day, I began expanding my skills using myself and others as guinea pigs...which, FYI, are a delicacy in Ecuador.  I believe the first person who let me cut their hair was my dad.  He had massive amounts of lustrous, glistening salt-n-pepper hair that softly framed his bearded face like some better-looking Kenny Rogers or Jerry Garcia.  That was a big deal for me...my dad trusted me and had enough faith in my ability to let me touch his hair with scissors...very cool.  I think I did pretty good because I was neither grounded or asked to not quit my day job.  My confidence grew from that first experience and so did my clientele.  My friends liked the idea of me cutting their hair because not only was I willing to go to them, but they could get creative with payment...it was truly a win-win situation.  Needless to say, I didn't have to pay for beers very often! 

I have cut hair in some pretty interesting places:  garages, basements, patios, front porches, kitchens, living rooms, bathrooms, balconies, terraces, driveways...you get the gist.  However, I was about to cut hair someplace I had never expected.  In 1996, Laura and I were married and we promptly moved to Durango, Colorado.  We were working at a beautiful ranch at approximately 8500 feet above sea level and getting to cut hair in the Rocky Mountains.  During the two years we spent in both Colorado and Arizona, I was consistently cutting and coloring hair for random transient friends, coworkers and vagabonds.  It was a great time in my life and a remarkable experience that I will never forget.  Laura and I bonded as newlyweds and indulged in an extraordinary lifestyle and got lost in the beauty of our surroundings.  My confidence as a non-licensed stylist was at a new high...and elevation.

After our stint out west, we returned to Indiana to be closer to our families and to maybe set some roots.  Laura returned to working for attorneys and I attempted to pursue a career using my Bachelor's Degree in Journalism.  That didn't really pan out.  I tripped and stumbled around to different jobs with varying degrees of failure and disappointment.  At some point, I realized that maybe I had made a mistake choosing to major in Journalism with and Art minor.  Sure, I enjoyed those things, but I really needed to make a little money.  Laura suggested I go to Beauty School and become "legal" as a hair stylist.  Since our return to Indiana, I was back cutting hair for our friends and family and having a good time doing it.  So it made complete sense that I should pursue this hobby as a career...problem solved.  Without going into detail, beauty school sucked.  It was the worst year-and-a-half of my life...I was a pilgrim in an unholy land.  Still, to this day, it ranks as one of the most dysfunctional places I have ever spent time.  I was also still working full-time, dealing with family issues and trying to have a relationship with my new bride...what doesn't kill you should make you stronger, or bitter.

I finished beauty school and took a job at a cute Aveda salon in Southport.  It was a new experience actually working on clients who paid and expected perfection.  I broke a few eggs at first, but found my footing and honed my skills, learning from my mistakes.  About six months into this new gig as a paid stylist, I was offered the opportunity to buy the salon where I was working.  "Sure, why not?"  Which, curiously, still seems to be the mantra for our life right now.  Ownership had its ups-and-downs...the highs were high but the lows were much, much lower.  It wore us down over eight years and I often questioned if I was truly happy cutting hair.   In spite of everything, I was still a stylist at heart and still felt a passion for what I had chosen to do...it was a part of me now and reflected a part of my character.  I'm an aging rock star who just can't stop making music and going on tour...sounds kinda glamorous or maybe, kinda crazy.

My twenty-minute walk down the mountain was enlightening.  I think we are all put here on Earth to be a certain person and to excel in certain things in such a short time.  We are tested along the way and our fortitude and confidence is often questioned.  At the end of the day, it's just life and our choices on any given day lead us somewhere or nowhere.  I'm glad to be where I am and to have had the opportunity to be a stylist for rent.  The walk through the mountains has been amazing.