I had long hair throughout my childhood. Then, as a teenager, I decided to be Punk and thought I should have short hair, so I cut it.
Some time later, I had a dream. In it, I was turning my head from side to side and feeling the soft caress of my shoulder-length hair brushing against my neck and the top of my shoulders. It was a beautiful feeling, and the dream was very vivid.
When I awoke, and realized that my hair was short, and that the beautiful feeling was to be no more, I cried in despair.
But I let the feeling go and got over it, and remained true to my punker decision – long hair was not in line with the way I wanted to apprehend the world, and the identity I wanted to have in it.
Then, I had the dream again as a young adult. It was the same, very vivid dream, where every sensation was so real that when I awoke, and found that my hair was short and I could not sway my head to have it caress the nape of my neck… I cried this time too, with an infinite sadness that this feeling was not real in the waking world.
By that time however, I made my own decisions, appearances of social rebellion notwithstanding. I decided to let my hair grow, and to never wear it short again.
This might seem silly to most people, that a physical sensation so inconsequential as having your hair caress the nape of your neck would become something of an important life decision. But it isn’t, it isn’t…
As I started to write this, I untied my hair. It’s usually up in a bun, so that it doesn’t distract me. But sometimes, when I want to recall that feeling, the bliss of the caress, I let my hair down. It’s a beautiful feeling, and exactly as it was in my dream, and my longing. My neck thanks me. My soul thanks me. Such is the beauty of the stim.