Hairdressers, Quarterlife Crises, and Truth.

I went to get my haircut this week and had a lovely, albeit random, conversation with my friend Lorena, who has been making the Junco ladies look beautiful for the last nine years. She is a not-so-sassy (I would describe her as un-stereotypically chill) Latina of Mexican decent with a little girl and a husband named Carlos. They're pregnant with their second child, they work with the youth group at church, and they have been recently "discussing strongly" (I take this to mean fighting) the issue of child-rearing.

After my hair was perfectly shaped and sprayed, I hugged Lorena and we exchanged numbers, saying that I'd love to visit her church sometime (a positive thing considering I am without a church a right now). I left the salon and sat in my sister's car that I now periodically borrow (I'm without transportation currently) and came to the following realization:

My hairdresser, with the exception of my family, is the only "constant" in my life.

Let's start with a question, one I have for the masses: Is the PC term "hairdresser," "hairstylist," or "cut specialist" (or something else I am unaware of)? :)

Another question is one you might have for me: Why the extremely dramatic and semi-confusing statement about Lorena being your only "constant?" Let me explain...

People in life come and go. Friends you had when you were eight are probably not the friends you now have, except maybe in Facebook-land (which doesn't really count if you don't keep up with them), or if you grew up in a really small town.

I left college two years ago and proceeded to leave the country; I recently returned to a completely different world. My family is still around, but my friends are scattered and in different life situations (jobs, relationships, etc). I'm entering a "quarterlife crisis" that doesn't bode well for my already fragile state. (As I write the words "fragile state," I remember the Scripture that says to be "bold and courageous," and I'm trying. As I write "I'm trying," I remember that I should stop trying and just let go.)

I want to embrace the change. I'm trying to enjoy starting over because everyone tells me it's an exciting thing. But I have to admit: It's hard and it's scary. Good thing I know deep down in the part of my heart labeled "TRUTH" that God doesn't promise ease or happiness all the time.

Today I wanted to speak Spanish. I wanted to walk or take a taxi. I wanted all the white people to go away. I wanted salsa music and dancing. I can still have those things in North America, which is fine; I suppose my heart is just pulling me in various directions--North, South, East and West. I'm not sure where I'll end up, but I'm trying to remember that my home is what I make here with Christ.

I'm thankful I have Lorena as a "constant," among other people (my dentist, my doctor, and the cashier at Publix).

At least in all the movement around me, I can listen to salsa music with her, comment about how I'm tired of gringos now, and speak Spanish (although I'll have to learn Mexican slang now).

I'll make the transition in time.