When I was young, I wanted my doctors to be older and wiser. For sure I did not want a young, good-looking male gynecologist. That would have been weird for me in those days of my youth. Now, I want my medical professionals to be young enough to see me through without retiring but a few years removed from medical school. The same goes for my hairdresser except for the med school part.

As a young married woman of 19, I did not know of a female ob/gyn in the field. Now, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a female doctor. See how things have changed! Plus, if you did swing a dead cat, you’d probably be in trouble with PETA, so I think I need a new saying.

As you may have gathered by now, I have recently had two people who have treated me with kindness and professionalism in their respective fields retire. The first was my gyn who has seen me through that lovely time of life which women go through and who was going through it at the same time. I tell you what – that was a match. At least it was until she went the way of so many people our age and retired. This field of medicine is not at the top of my needs list anymore, but nevertheless I am searching for a new practitioner. Sigh. At least this time there are plenty of women doctors from whom to choose.

Finding a new hairdresser after nearly 30 years with the same talented woman is a bit more daunting. No one other than Teya has cut my hair in all that time. Once during COVID I was forced to get my color touch-up from another when Teya had COVID. Bob and I were going to his 50^th high school reunion. You don’t want your roots showing at that event – that’s for sure. You either want to be full-on gray or colored – none of that awkward in-between stuff. Having a stranger’s hands in my hair was weird for me. I felt a bit like I was cheating on Teya, but I had no choice (other than go with my roots showing or covering them up with a temporary fix or not going – other than those three things, I had no choice).

I sent this picture to Teya to show her the weird day I was having without her.

So, when it was time to find a new hairdresser, I was more than a little nervous. I asked myself if perhaps now was the time to go gray (now referred to as natural) and let my locks just keep on growing – maybe embrace my inner hippy who seemed to disappear somewhere after having my fourth child. But, alas, vanity said, “No!” I like my “natural” look and will likely continue it as long as it’s in the budget.

Before I found Teya, I had some bad experiences such as a person who was getting ready to cut my hair asking the stylist next to her, “What would you do with this?” I should have run out of there, but I was young. Also, I had often asked myself the same question about my curly hair. I was taken back but too timid to stand up for myself at that point.

I also had been overprocessed from highlights to the point that when I look back at those pictures, I wonder what I was thinking, but I digress. Teya had rescued my abused hair and introduced me to the wonderful, though expensive, world of “products.” She was experienced and not intimidated at all by my thick, curly hair. I think she was happy to perform her magic on me. The before and after can be quite satisfying.

So, when she told me she was retiring and moving away (she is so good that I’m sure several of us clients would have shown up on her doorstep if she hadn’t), I cried. Not only was I losing an amazing hairdresser, but I was losing a friend and a way of life that I enjoyed and in which I found myself quite comfortable.

Comfort. What a beautiful word! One can comfort another in times of difficulties and loss. And one receives comfort in like manner from those in our family and communities, and at times even from the perfect stranger. If there is such a thing as a perfect anything, a stranger who offers you comfort would fill that bill. But once again, I digress.

My roots were beginning to make an appearance and I knew it was time to jump into the pool of hairdressers and find a new one. You might not think it was a struggle, but it was. I like the familiar and I’m not a fan of the unknown. Even though it can bring new joys and friendships, it also might bring a bad haircut.

One morning before church, I spotted my friend’s granddaughter, Kate, who is a hairdresser. I’ve known her since she was born and she has been working for a few years, so she fits two of my qualifications – she would not likely retire before I die, and she has been working for a few years.

I approached her and began my lament. I used so many words; it was ridiculous. I told her my story and I told her my fears. I told her I was concerned that if I went to someone I know and was not happy with my results, I would feel awful not returning. I would probably have to move or something just to spare her the rejection. I could feel myself beginning to tear up. I fought back the tears – I think successfully. I acquired her phone number and said I’d call for an appointment. I’m pretty sure I also scared her to death. I’m surprised she didn’t change her phone number, but she was gracious.

Two weeks later I was sitting in her studio – a trendy, comfortable studio for one. It was so cute and inviting – just like Kate. I had given Kate my “formula” and she went above and beyond by ordering the exact color products that Teya had used. That scored major points with me. Plus, she is ten minutes from my house in Altamonte Springs, Florida.

As I sat down, with my hair literally in a new stylist’s hands, I was nervous, but I think Kate was more. She didn’t really show it, but later as I talked with my friend/her grandmother, she let it slip. I haven’t let her cut my hair yet, so the jury is still out, but if her ability with color and her sweet personality are indicators, I think she may be stuck with me unless she retires and moves away. Poor Kate!