Dying My Hair
I never had a phase in high school where I experimented with my look very much. Never dyed my hair, never experimented with makeup, never even really changed up my clothing style until after I graduated from university. It's not that I didn't want to (for differing amounts of want), it's that I wasn't brave enough to take the plunge.
I recieved my last prepandemic hair cut in December 2021 (I always tried to clean up a bit for Christmas) and, when I first met my medical oncologist in late August 2022, I'd grown quite the head of hair. And that I was likely to lose it during treatment.
My partner and I picked the blue that I was supposed to end up with, and Lilly Hill and I set to work transforming my brown hair (accidentally, beautifully) green.
In hindsight, this is the first item crossed off the Remission List. Something I had long wanted to do that I needed the excuse of cancer to finally push myself into. Learning to paint my nails slots in here nicely, too. Doubly so because chemotherapy weakens your nails and raises risk of them falling off if you aren't caredul.
It helped set the stage for accomplishing every difficult or embarrassing or otherwise challenging thing I'd face at least until at least the time I'm writing this: I need to have the strength and stubbornness to say yes, to be willing to chase after the things that are important or joyous or worthwhile for me, but I can borrow a whole lot of that strength and skill from the people I'm lucky enough to have in my life.
And I'm very lucky to have all of you in my life, in whatever little capacities we can exchange