For most of my life thus far, my hair has been some incarnation of this:
Every so often though, I get the urge to completely change it up. Usually I just talk myself out of it by reminiscing about the time i had it chopped into that super popular mid-90's flip with bangs which, when not styled meticulously looked suspiciously like a mullet, and not the punk rock joan jett kind either.
Of course, other times, I just spontaneously do it anyway a la yesterday when I hit the stylist's chair and decided I could not possibly walk out of there with hair past the bottom of my ribs one more time.
It feels aahmazing. I walked home in the wind yesterday and while it's still long enough to get in my eyes, it can no longer viciously attempt to strangle me.
And! One of the benefits of having a rapunzel-gro mane that isn't dyed is that when you chop it off it can be reincarnated as part of a wig for a cancer patient.