I never thought about going grey. I thought that happened to “old” people. Yet last year I was blow drying my hair and I saw what I thought was one of my dog’s hairs stuck in my own mane and tried to tug it out. It was stuck. WTF? Upon closer inspection I found a…grey hair? A long, shiny silvery one, thicker than my normal strands, and gliding proudly along my dark brown locks. At first, I freaked out, then, I plucked out the little bugger and taped it to my scrapbook to proudly display my first grey hair.
Now, my lone grey hair must have told its family about how excited I was about discovering it, because now a year later I have a thin strand of silvery lustrous hair growing out of a cow lick I have on the back of my head. I’m thrilled that they keep a’comin, because with my nearly black hair they really stand out and shine in the sun. I’m even beginning to get a few greys in my bangs. I’ve noticed that they come in blonde at first, then seem to fade as they grow to that silver color that I find stunning.
I haven’t dyed my hair since I found my first grey hair. Which is quite the change up for me because I am an avid hair dyer, and one would think I would be eager to cover my greys. Quite the opposite- I go through a weekly ritual looking for more surprises, and they are coming in slowly but surely. I think by the time I’m 30 I’ll have enough grey hairs to be noticeable to the naked eye. I don’t want to cover them up- it’s a sign of my physical maturity, and much like not wanting to hide my beginning fine lines from laughing and smiling, I don’t want to hide my age in my hair.
I’m proud of my maturing body. Why I still look 12, I don’t know. I certainly don’t dip into any fountain of youth that I can think of, and if you got really, really close you’d see the forehead line I’m beginning to make permanent, the dimple fine line in my left cheek, the tiny tiny smile lines around my eyes. Maybe I look young because I ACT young, but I am certainly not a child. Rather, I am a maturing young lady who is proud of life showing in my face, and now my hair, and I hope one day to be one of those “natural beauties” who allows their silver hair and earned wrinkles to shine. I just want to embrace my aging body as much as I can.
It is truly exciting to discover new strands every now and then that crop up and defy my youthful appearance. I’ll likely never look my age, even when I have a full head of greys, and I’m OK with that. But in no way am I going to fight or hide my maturing body, I’m going to jump around with glee as I go through life and my experiences and joy take their toll on my face and hair and body. Maybe I won’t be so happy when my ass droops down to my knees, but I take care of myself the best way that I can and know that I will lose the fight with gravity one day. I’m ready to face what life has to throw at me, and embrace my maturing body every day. Yeah, I’m only 26, but I can’t wait to see what I look like at 40, and see if I’m still a childish face with a mind beyond my years. If I look like a stunner (which I hope I do), I’ll be thrilled and grateful to age so well. Looking at my mother and aunts and even my grandmother, there’s a good chance of that. But if my body just can’t handle life on life’s terms and I look haggard at 40, I’ll take that, too. I’ll just be happy to be alive and healthy.
It’s sobering to see that you can’t just fight your body. That you can’t just fight aging. Even at 26, the effects of aging are beginning to take minor claim on me, and that’s completely fine by me. I’m still me, whether I hide my greys to try to look young, or just let the greys happen and make people wonder REALLY how old I am…I don’t mind it. So long as I am OK with what I see in the mirror, bring it on, Mother Nature. I’ll take whatever you’ve got.