Back To 19

When I was 19-years old I was in Cosmetology school. Hair was my life. I worked on the retail side of the a salon and I was all about it.

My hair was cut every two-weeks. I wore it in a cute little pixie that was always varying in colors, usually some variation of platinum or pink.

I was standing on the cusp of my life. I didn't pick an occupation that required a hefty degree or various problem solving skills. I wasn't going to save the world or a life but I was going to do something that I wanted to do since I was a little girl. And you know what? I was good at it, I really was.

While I was in school I met a girl named Summer. Summer was trouble. I knew it from the second I met her. She was the kind of girl that I either would have buddied around with or gotten into a fight with in school. Chances are it would have been because I talked to some boy she liked or vice versa. Chance are I would have given her a dirty look in the hallway.

But at 19 I was mature. I could be friends with girls and it wasn't all about who was the coolest, because we were all the cool kids. That's what Cosmetology school is full of. The cool girls that only cared about looks and not grades.

I cared about both but that was my secret.

Summer was dating this guy she told me about constantly. His name? Jason. Yup, she was dating my husband to be. Ironically, she also introduced me to my ex-husband.

See? Trouble.

She talked about Jason so much, I think I was actually in love with him before I ever met him. He was this cute, little blonde guy living in his own tiny, dingy, basement apartment. In other words, he was awesome.

At the time he was working as a valet and he dj'd. He was an adonis with turntables, yo. (Don't hold it against him).

In very short order, Summer and I partied our weekends away. Going to class on Saturday morning became a living hell. I was 'raving' all night and going to class during the day. I was also working full-time at the salon. Burning the candle at both ends.

Soon, I dropped out of school. I worked full-time and partied fuller-time. And then life happened and you kind of know the rest.

I grew up, got married, had Marley, moved to New York, got divorced, went to the school of hard knocks as a single mother and moved back to Kansas City to be with Jason.

He had given up his turntables a long time ago. He had made a couple of records, traveled the country to play and finally finished school and became an accountant.

I turned 30 last year. In the last 12 years I have lived a lot, grown up a lot and have made a decent life for myself as an office manager. I work in a fabulous place that allows me some freedom in a creative atmosphere. It's heaven. But as my environment has become one that kicks ass I have realized that my job? Does not.

Being an office manager kind of blows.

This morning? My husband ordered turntables and a mixer.

This morning? I contacted a hair school and have an appointment set up next week for a campus tour and financial aid meeting.

In the last year I finally realized that I knew who I was when I was 19 but somehow took a detour and tried to be everything to everyone else. I lost myself along the way. Turning 30 triggered some kind of reaction in me that pointed out that I just have this one life and I'm going to be who and what I want to be while I can still live it.

I finally wear my hair the way I want. I finally wear the clothes I like and to work, even. I threw out my business suits. I play the music that I like, even if the boy I'm with doesn't think it's all cool. I say the crap that I say.

I've regressed just a bit back to my little punk rock roots.

Will I be able to make school work? I don't know. Is changing my career risky? Yes, it is. My husband told me not to get my hopes up too high just in case we can't work it out financially but he told me I have to go and talk to them and find out.

And he's right. I have to find out.

Besides, it's not like I woke up this morning and decided that I wanted to be a rocket surgeon, right?

So I may not be brilliant. I may not be an amazing success, but dammit, I'm going to be happy.