One year ago this month, I shaved my legs for the first time during shorts weather. Until doing so, I had only shaved my legs and body during the fall and winter so as to go unnoticed by the world.
Although I hated body hair, I was always too scared that someone might actually notice that my legs were devoid of hair, assume the absolute worst about me, and consider me only slightly more desirable than an axe wielding maniac.
I also thought that if someone noticed my legs were silky smooth and all femmed out, life as I knew it would immediately cease to exist. Subsequently, the story would be page one and above the fold in the morning newspaper. I would be banned from all local restaurants. Really small cars full of ridiculous numbers of circus clowns would chase me up and down city streets hurling obscenities at me. All the cheese in my refrigerator would immediately turn moldy and become inedible. And without fail, all newborn babies would spit in my general direction upon sight.
Of course, the way I saw it, the risk of shaving my legs during shorts weather was substantial and very real. The consequences of discovery were serious, dire, and everything was on the line. I would stand to lose much, after all, if my denuded legs were noticed by even one person. And if one person noticed, then everyone would know, right? I would thereafter be immediately and forever branded the total tranny that I am, and instantly banished to social Siberia for life, without mercy, and no possibility of parole.
But the thing is, although I did not recognize it at the time, last summer marked the beginning of the end of the old me, and the ushering in of the new me. I’m still not completely sure who the new me is, but I do know that the new me does not care anymore whether anyone notices my shaved legs.
You see, I have come to the conclusion that it is more important for me to be true to myself, to enjoy myself, to take steps to make my life work, than it is to worry about what others may or may not think about my legs. And truth be told, although certain friends and family have noticed and asked me about my legs, most do not notice. Or if they notice, they simply do not care.
To those that have noticed and asked, simply explaining that I prefer my legs shaved pretty much has ended the discussion without controversy (thanks Eryn!!!). No blood, no foul, no harm. It just hasn’t been a big deal. At all. To be certain, I have yet to be chased by large numbers of circus clowns in really small cars throughout town, and I can still eat the cheese in my refrigerator, but I digress . . . .
In hindsight, I wish that I had done this a long, long time ago. But I didn’t, due to my fear. Whether my fear was unreasonable or justified is not the point. The question ultimately became what was more important to me - living life hair-free, or sasquatching it throughout the spring and summer for the remainder of my days?
For those who desire to look deeper into this ridiculously simple question, there is a much more important question to be found within. But it shall be found only if the question is important to you to begin with.
For me, it was important, and it is important. My legs shall never be polluted by hair ever again. As for my mind, my being, who I am, who I may be, and who I shall ultimately become, this is simply one step of many in the journey I began last year to free myself of the shackles of my fear.
Although I may remain far from free, I am more free now than I have ever before been in my life, and that really means much to me. It means everything to me, in fact. I have hope for the first time in many, many suns and moons that I can make this, whatever this may be, work. So is it just unwanted hair? Or is it something soooo much more than that? What do you think?