My hairstyle, being a less common cut for girls my age, and especially on my college campus, proves to be a popular conversation piece.

"Why did you decide to cut your hair?"

"Do you miss having long hair?"

"You must be so brave! I could never do that!"

Truthfully, I did not feel as if my haircut required much courage at all. I had never formed a particular attachment with my long hair, and I felt as if my new hairstyle would better reflect my energetic, quirky personality. Any insecurities or doubts I may have had in my mind were overpowered quickly by my bubbling excitement.

I had been counting down the days until August 2nd for weeks.

I cannot pinpoint a single moment that triggered my decision to chop off twelve inches of my hair. Likely, my desire to "change up my look" before college and my exhaustion with the maintenance of my long locks merged into a radical epiphany. Despite the drastic nature of this change, I was confident in my decision: I would soon be sporting a pixie cut.

Soon enough, August 2nd arrived, and I was placed in a cool black swivel chair at my hair salon. Staring directly into my reflection in the full-length mirror, I studied the final image of my long-haired self. I tried to stay calm, but, being the dramatic person that I am, I readied myself for a new era.

Although I was excited to ditch my old locks for a fresh, easy-to-maintain hairstyle, my real joy was grounded in a different opportunity.

On August 2nd, I decided to change my look while giving women who have lost their hair to cancer the opportunity to do the same.

I had decided to donate my hair.

With a tight ponytail and one simple chop, the process had begun. I gasped as the majority of my hair became detached, and my head felt significantly lighter. The moment was Rapunzel-esque in nature. Yet, while Rapunzel loses her magic as her hair is chopped, I acquired joy in knowing my hair would soon provide comfort for another woman somewhere in the world.

Once my hairstyle was finalized, I became obsessed. Every mirror or window I passed, I would stop, stare at my changed appearance, and smile. My hands did not leave my head for a few days; I could not believe how fresh and soft my new hair felt as my fingers grazed the edges.

Nearly four months after the initial chop, I am still incredibly passionate about my new look. Though at times, I do miss my longer hair, it brings me great comfort to know that my former style is serving a woman who needs it far more than I do.

Ultimately, I have no regrets.