Portland was the last time it was cut with the symbolism in mind. Since then, it's become a ritual more than anything else. A haircut is when I'm bored with myself and need a change, but I look at my co-workers and am sad that they don't see haircuts in the same way. I look at myself and wonder if all those years I was just trying to force myself to grow up, and wanted to find any way to feel less like a child.
I think I'll grow it out again, at least for the next year. A year from now will be a drastic change in my life, I'm hoping.
I'm consciously trying to lessen any damage by not washing the roots as thoroughly, eating walnuts and no longer blow-drying it. D's hair is down to the middle of his back, and although I know mine will never be as nice and thick as his, I really want long hair again.