The fluorescent Norton lighting was a harsh contrast to the darkness hanging outside the dorm’s narrow window. The desk chair pressed against my spine as I made a stiff move to straighten and stand as tall as I could. The chair stooped precariously on the uneven shag carpet in the center of the room, and with my back to the door, I felt a sense of isolation despite the small dimensions of the rectangle single.
Following a snipping sound and an accompanying whoosh, I instinctively sucked in a scratchy breath and tensed. Moments later, when I finally rose from the chair, a new, unknown reflection stared back at me the mirror. That evening, I let my friend, equipped with a mere pair of chunky scissors and her own intuition and self-taught skills, cut my hair.The fragmented lighting casted a mirage that warped my reflection, but I could still appreciate the drastic change that had occurred. I could continue this account of the event as a testament to how the change in appearance represents a greater, internal change: in all honesty, my hair has been the same long length since before eighth grade; and moreover, I do in fact feel a closer connection to the new style, and in some way, I hope that it might hold more significant symbolism to my entering college. Yet, I want to stray away from placing too much hidden meaning in these simple acts or my appearance in general.Appearance-change aside, the greatest change that evening was not what I lost, but instead a small thread of insight that I gained—the value of spontaneity.
Nearly every decision I faced in my past dragged an anxiety-laden turmoil along with it. I would perseverate on the simplest decisions in fear of opting for the “wrong one.” Ultimately, a decision was made in each instance, demoting the previous fret and fuss to a waste of time and energy. It would always dawn on me then, with eyes puffy and a headache from the stress of indecision, that I would have been contented with either option. An air of spontaneity would have let me bypass this fretful moment and would have skipped wasted upset energy.
Moreover, in the chaos of indecision, my rattled brain would attempt to arrive at the most logical decision in as systematic a procedure as possible. Despite the fact that I would not necessarily classify myself as a “science” or “math” person, my mind is wired in such a way that it finds solace in concrete facts. Thus, I would spend these frazzled moments etching numerous pro and con lists on scrap pieces of paper. In what appeared as particularly trying decisions (but were in retrospect, probably quite mundane), I would attribute a scoring system—negative decimals for the cons and positive ones for the pros with a weighted system that accounted for factors with stronger influences. This system, despite convincing me that I made the “right” decision, devalues the experience by not only limiting it to tangible gains, but also by placing a numerical value on it. It would place an opaque veil over my sight that would prevent me from seeing other possible outcomes as well as taint my view with its list of prescribed inherent negative effects of the decision.Spontaneity, in stark contrast to my previous moments of perseverating on and devaluing decisions, instead offers a way to better enjoy each decision and its accompanying experiences.