Today, I got my hair done. It happens about twice a year (about a third as often as it ought to) and it always an indulgent pleasure. A chance to change things up and pamper myself. I went to a new shop, called The Head Shop, which is located beneath my dad's new office. It's in an offbeat part of Kansas City and it absolutely adorable. It is vintage and funky and doesn't feel anything like a traditional hair parlor. The walls are plastered and painted, the ceiling is punched tin, the stations are old vanity desks, and the owner is a character. While she did my hair, we had a pleasant and uninhibited conversation, all the while I was admiring her myriad of tattoos and her giant, glamorous poof of an up-do. She told me about her back story and all the grand adventures and forks in her road. Then she told me about her ultimate dream: to live in a self-sufficient, repurposed school bus in the middle of an avocado farm. It was so specific, but I could see it. With her tattooed and pierced husband and their already-developing-dreadlocks three-year-old daughter. The image was absolutely quixotic.
Ok - backtrack to yesterday. I drove down to Branson in hopes of seeing Emily before she left for summer school at Ole Miss. To make a long story short, my car broke and we had to leave it and she had to drive me back to Kansas City. Not ideal for her, but it was lovely to have the whole family in one place for a night.
On the drive back up, she played me some new music (my sister is a total music hipster even if she doesn't want to admit it). One song, "Gang of Rhythm" by Walk Off the Earth has been stuck in my head ever since. This is where it ties back into the avocado farm. The song is folksy and wonderful and absolutely full of life. I have listened to it at least three times since Em played it for me. It brought to mind bonfires, dancing around in long skirts and loose hair, singing at the top of my lungs, soaking up life and friends and the beautiful, beautiful world. That is my hippie dream. No avocado farm or planet-saving school bus. Just me, barefoot next to a bonfire, singing soulful folk music without the slightest consideration to the fact that my voice is far from perfect. It sounds awfully free-spirited for me, I know, which is why it will forever remain a dream unrealized, but it's a nice image to dwell on - to pretend.
I don't think there is anything wrong with having hippie dreams. And sometimes, I consider just running away and doing just that. Life stops me, which I find amusingly ironic, since my hippie dream is so full of life, but you get the gist. But it nice to have something to dwell in. A small possibility. Emily Dickinson would be so proud.
