I discovered my first grey hair this time last year. I’m not suggesting I starting going grey then, I’m sure it started long before, but up until March, 2008, I was blissfully ignorant. I believed I was coloring my hair because I wanted to, not because I felt I had to. After all, I used to say, life’s too short to have one hair color.
Last night I found more grey. I was brushing my teeth and looking in the mirror at my hairline (in the words of the British, as you do). I’m getting close to my next color appointment and was checking out the re-growth. I had my hair in a very odd, not for public viewing hairstyle after my nightly workout, and I noticed some silver near my hairline. Much to my surprise, I found myself looking for more.
Last year, when I saw that first silver strand, I called friends and family, and marched into the hair salon, asking all the same question - why didn’t you tell me?!?!? My beliefs were shaken. I felt middle aged.
Things feel different now. I’m more aware of the brevity of life. Yeats wrote “What made us dream we could comb grey hair?” I’ve heard of two peers dying this year, and it’s only March – I wonder if they got to comb grey hair. I look at my grey as a badge of honor – as a symbol that I’ve lived – like rings on a tree trunk.
Make no mistake, I still have an appointment to get those suckers covered, but I know they’re there. They’re all mine, and I’ve earned every one them.
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