“I want to keep it long” I say as she pulls from my hair in between her fingers, and I realize every tug reveals more split and broken edges. Edges that I had let go for too long. She realized she may have been insulting me with her corresponding face of disgust at my scraggly hair and quickly pulls back her hands “Oh I’m sorry!” I tell her it was okay, “I know what I’ve done.”

For some people, their trip to Outback Steakhouse comes with a side of delightful honey wheat bread, but for me and my brother Noah, it came with a large serving of embarrassment. We stood near the host stand and listened to our father berate the young girl for not having a table available in the smoking section. He demanded to speak to the manager and insinuated that the restaurant discriminated against smokers.

I sat in the graduate assistant office I shared with 2 other master’s students, the myriad of lamps casting a dim, soft, glow over my desk, adorned with the maximalist style. Every inch was covered in my favorite dark academia art and décor. With the space heater blaring, my office was “the vibe,” as my students had often told me.