Back in October I went to Philly with my friend Pedro. We met up with a couple of his friends and went to a bar called Sisters. Great place. I ordered a Cuba Libre as I usually do, while the boys drank beers. When I finished my drink I consulted the boys as to what I should order next.

“I dunno. Just order another of what you got,” seemed to be the consensus. “No,” I responded. “That’s boring, I want to try something new.”

The bartender, a cute dark-skinned young woman came over and asked if I wanted another. I asked her what she thought I should have.

“I dunno. What do you like?”

“I have no idea. That’s the point. I need to try some new things so I can figure that out.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m not going to choose your drink for you. What if you don’t like it?”

“I won’t blame you, I promise.”

“Well… no, I don’t care if you blame me… it’s just…”

She eventually made me her favorite drink, a Washington Apple. So. Good.

A few months later, I threw caution to the wind and got my hair cut short after wearing it long for 18 years. I decided I liked it… and I wanted to play with this. The next time I got it cut I went to one of those cheap chains because it was all I could afford. I sat down in the chair as the stylis smiled at me and asked what I wanted.

“I want it it short and I want it androgynous.”

She stared at me blankly for a moment, I don’t think she knew the word androgynous. “I don’t want it to look girly,” I clarified.

“You want to look like a boy?”

“Well, I want to be able to go either way.”

“You don’t want to look like a boy. I’ll put some color in it, I’ll make it short, but you’ll still look like a girl.”

“I’m really not looking to do any color today. I just want it short. Real short.”

“I don’t want to do that. I really don’t. You won’t like it. I really think some color will add texture and then…”

“I’m not afraid of not liking it. I really don’t want to do any color. I just want it cut short, and not girly.”

They’re terrified that they’ll get it wrong. Even if they claim they’re not worried about me being mad at them, they just freeze and, like with pie crust dough, it takes some work to get them pliable enough to get what I want from them. What I want is to figure out what I like. I need to experience something to find out whether or not I like it. And where am I going to have a chance to do that but in a bar? How am I going to figure out how I like my hair to look unless I try out a few different options?

I don’t want to be a safe person. I don’t want to fall into routines and just walk back and forth in one path until the rut is so deep you can’t see my head anymore. I’m the kind of person who will sometimes walk through the trees just to spite the road. More often its cause I want to talk to the trees but that’s another entry. It just bugs me when safe people get in the way of my adventure.