I’m Just a Hairdersser

I’m ‘just’ a hairdresser
When I was a young man, there had always been a stigma that
surrounded your career choices. You could be a policeman, a
teacher, a doctor or a lawyer, but to choose a career as a plumber, an
electrician, a carpenter or a hairdresser, wasn’t supposed to be your
first option, at least in my family.
As the years went on, and life’s circumstances slowly started to
unfold, it became clear to me that my life path had led me to
becoming exactly what I was told I shouldn’t be, a hairdresser. At
first, I figured this will be a breeze, little did I know, I had no real
idea of what I was signing up for.
Like many of the choices we make in life, we are often unaware of
what lies behind closed doors until we open them. The fear of what is
to come, for me, is met time and time again with the thought, “I’m
glad I opened that door and took a leap of faith.” Whatever the
outcome of opening that door, came a general knowledge and
fulfillment, allowing me to reflect on the decision to open the door
and know that it’s better to take a chance on something good, than
never knowing at all.
Many years have passed since that I decided to become a
hairdresser, and more importantly, many more doors have been
opened. Still to some, I’m just a hairdresser, but for me, I am blessed.
To be a hairdresser has allowed me to experience a life that has
evolved into a conviction of pride, happiness and completion as a
man. I have been blessed with a wife of 27 years, three beautiful
children, many friends and a career that could make any policeman,
teacher, doctor or a lawyer envious.
Each morning when I awake, I delve into my daily routine of waiting
for my morning newspaper, The Chronicle Herald, pouring a fresh
cup of coffee and giving myself a little time to peruse and reflect on
the day’s headlines.
In recent weeks it’s not just the day’s headlines that I’ve been
reflecting on. Unfortunately, it’s been on many of the sadder
conversations I have with my clients and colleagues. I’ve been
incredibly touched and saddened by the losses of some of our
industry peers, and clients’ loved ones.
My years as a hairdresser have afforded me the ability to listen to
many memories and stories and I have felt privileged as I’ve been an
ear for my clients’ and customers’. For me, my clients have become
an intricate part of my life, and also a part of my daily routine. Yet,
when I turn the pages of my morning newspaper and come to the
obituaries, it’s at that moment, that I look over the names with a
glance, always in fear of seeing a name that I recognize.
In recent weeks, there have been a few losses that have moved me to
where I am writing this today. However, I’ve increasingly become
frustrated in not knowing what to say or do. Sure, anyone can give
an empathetic look, smile, comment of understanding or a
sympathetic reply that makes him or her feel like they can make a
difference. Yet knowing that when you sit in my chair, however long
that may be for, I will be there for you, whether it is to listen, make
you feel beautiful or simply give you time to sit and relax, is the way
I know that I can make a difference.
Being your hairdresser, I get to celebrate milestones in your life, your
high school, college or university graduation, your wedding day, and
your first child. Even though, I’m just your hairdresser, I also share
in an illness with your loved ones, and the pain of a loss of a family
member or close friend. Even though, I’m just your hairdresser, I
silently grieve several times a day, each week and multiple times a
month with many clients that visit me, and our salon on a regular
basis.
So I guess I’m not ‘JUST’ a hairdresser; I’m a part of you, your
daily grooming ritual, caring about how you look before every major
milestone in your life. I laugh with you, I hurt for you, and I want
you to know, I care. I’m blessed to have you as a part of my life and
am so fortunate to have chosen a career that affords me to be thankful
every day I come to work.
I look forward to tomorrow’s conversation.
Your hairdresser,
Ian Marc Smith