Play of Life

Day one. The very first day of a brand new year. 2026 is finally here!

There is something so fresh and exciting about new beginnings: a chance to start; a blank canvas that could create a brand new world filled with the stuff of our imagination; and a slight sense of control. What will you choose to be the story you write this year? Is it a continuation of what already began, or a completely new tale?

When I contemplate this new start, a phrase comes to mind, ‘Joie de Vivre’. Away from the tradition that puts pressure on us to set the stage for the rest of the year; perhaps a good addition would be to set an intention for how you will move through it, no matter what life throws at you?

A few years ago, I came across the concept of having a word of the year. A theme that runs through the year’s experiences and accomplishments. In many ways it seems to be more like a prayer or a wish. I remember doing it for a few years, having a theme of the year, the last of which was wisdom. I asked for wisdom, and let me tell you, wisdom did not knock on my door. No, it stormed in. Wisdom did not gently tap and wait for me to let it in, it swept right through with such force that I was left spinning. No warning letters, no memo. It was as if I had found that fabled magic lamp with a genie in it, blew off the dust and inhaled it, to unwittingly cast a spell on myself before the genie had a chance to appear and offer me three wishes. Amidst sputters of allergic sneezes, the spell compelled me ask for wisdom. Yes, I am blaming a fictional object for the turn of events I set into motion, while clearly in lack of said wisdom. And so I was gifted a solid dose of one hard truth after another, gently nudged to look within, and to eventually clean out that dusty old closet of ‘untended to’ things. It came in relentless waves that cleared one dusty shelf after another, and shone a light so bright on the mess before me, that ignoring its existence would be a fool’s task.

Wisdom was quite the teacher, and there were times I cussed out the process, times I taunted it and others I almost quit. I had not read the fine print; quitting was not a choice. So I powered through. In the midst of the storms of revelation, and overwhelm at new truths that emerged from this clever fellow, I learnt to find the beauty in the pain and the fun in the game. It was nothing short of an adventure.

In conversation with one of my favourite people, we dissected the idea of asking for the things we want. Those we think we lack or want more of. It was quickly apparent that we can set ourselves up with this idea that we know exactly what we want. What we seek is the shiny exterior; the final product, without considering what it takes to achieve that coveted prize. The peace, wisdom, joy, ease, wealth, love, whatever it is we seek. We rarely consider what it will take to get there, what the cost will be, because nothing comes for free.

More often than not, the things we want to be, will gradually emerge as we pass one challenge after another, each one holding an opportunity to test our ability to embody that which we seek. Oftentimes, we will take a while to recognise the pattern, to see that all the little tests are either getting us ready, or testing our resolve. Are we up to the task? Are you up to the task?

My friend decided to approach her hopes and dreams from a different angle, one that would soften the blow. A gentler approach that did not include asking to be a certain kind of person or to live a certain kind of life. I, on the other hand, was still deliberating on which way works best for me. Do I want to be a soldier and ask directly for something specific, for a result? Then prepare for the battle field that would surely deliver results; or trick the universe into treating me, without a rough and unpredictable ride? It now appears, that though I appreciate the effectiveness of being direct, (as it offers something of a crash course in achieving our goals without signing off on the package it is delivered in) maybe this time I can try something different.

This time, I choose to start by showing up the way my ideal self would. Ideal because it is a higher version than the one I am familiar with, yet it is within reach. In evaluating my previous responses to challenges, there is now a greater awareness within me, of how I can still feel empowered in my response to life doing what it does.

As 2026 begins, I endeavour to show up and to be playful. To play with life, and not wrestle with it. Can I promise to always embody this ‘joie de vivre’? Perhaps not, but when it starts to feel a little heavy, that will be my reminder to play again. When 2026 ends, I want it to find me with a playful smile, proud of how I showed up when winning and even when it seemed like I was loosing ,but I was actually learning and levelling up.

How do you want to look back on this bright and shiny new year? Let us set ourselves up for something we will smile about 12 months from now.

Happy 2026!

I Cut my Hair

Cutting my hair is not something I do every other day. In fact, in all memory, I have only cut my hair 3 times. The first time I considered a big chop was after rocking a perm back in high school and watching it slowly shrivel up to about a third of what it used to be in volume. You see, I have fine hair. It can puff up a bit, but is usually quite easy to hold together in a hairband. In an attempt to save my stringy, struggling hair and simultaneously try a new look, I cut it into a bob.

Short hair on women has always looked so chic to me, it would easily warrant a second look, and gave the wearer a sense of autonomy. Think bombshells like: Halle Berry, Toni Braxton and Nia Long. Later came: Pink, Charlize Theron and Emma Thompson (in her senior years). Most of the women I found stunning or cool were rocking super short hair back in the 90s, well into the 2000s and beyond. I could not resist that bob phase.

That first big chop was my ode to these women, and a chance to live out the fantasy of being short haired. Edgy yet feminine, a powerful combination. It was not that deep.

The next time I took to the scissors was when I returned to my natural, coil-textured hair. I had grown out my bob and was done with straight hair. The natural hair movement was burgeoning the world over. A tidal wave of black women in the diaspora returning to their roots and sweeping in with new products and tutorials to celebrate textured hair. 

The transition started off with growing out my roots, skipping the retouches and trying to style it as other curly and coily chics. One evening, while spending a mellow afternoon in my flat, I decided to chop off all the straight bits. It was completely spontaneous and exhilarating. I could not wait to meet this new version of me, a version I had no known memory of.

Meanwhile, in my personal life, I had made an executive decision on my heart. I was going to stop letting myself down and leave a relationship that had been largely dysfunctional. They say a woman shaves her hair when she is making a change. Of course! It makes perfect sense that we would want to shed this crown that sits atop our heads, in the monumental moments of our lives; both good and bad.

Hair determines our appearance, it shapes our faces and makes an impression on those who see us. When you make this inner choice to change; a choice that impacts your life greatly, you may need to see it manifest in the physical world for it to feel real. 

The shedding of hair; grown out of old, dead cells to make way for younger, healthier ones; is the ultimate symbol of becoming a new version of yourself.

Hair is not a big deal to women alone, but men too. Most men will admit to having a special relationship with their barber; a brotherhood of sorts. Trust, understanding and consistency are needed to form that bond; mutual loyalty is the payoff. For some men, most of their hair falls off at some point. They reach a crossroads: to let it all go or power through; holding on to the very last strand until the wheels fall off. Balding marks a major shift in men’s adult lives and gives them a distinguished or distinct look. Depends on who you ask. It is also the moment when their departure from youth begins to seem truly apparent.

Many men will envy those who keep a full head of hair, well into their sunset years. Hair is not just hair: it is status, it is a position in the attractiveness scale, it is a sign of aging when it starts to grey. And yet, as India Arie sings, “I am not my hair”. She’s right, and though we are indeed, not our hair, it is a significant part of who we appear to be.

About 10 years have passed and the scissors are back in my coils: teasing, releasing and snipping away. This time, I am a new-ish mom, living abroad, learning a new language and reshaping my future. It is a truly transformational time. As the days go by, I start to toy with the idea of chopping it all off, having it shorter than ever before. An idea that might be subconsciously tied to my inner workings of defining this new era. An era veiled in layers of unknowns and limitless possibilities. 

I am starting to find my footing in uncertainty. I have battled with it for more years than I can count. So this time, the big chop is a coming to terms with myself, while surrendering to the process with a symbolic gesture. The other part of it is more practical. After all, I am not the first toddler mom to find shorter hair more manageable. One less thing to think about.

So bye bye tried and tested tresses, it is time for a rest. Hello, to a fresh new look, one I am starting to get used to.

Have you cut your hair before, watched, as heaps of it fell to the floor? Did it mean anything to you beyond style? Share your thoughts below.