Growing older — I tend to think of that inevitable process more as ‘getting wiser and on my way to becoming a classic’. Isn’t that a much more optimistic way of looking at things?
One of my cousins had sent me a greeting card for my birthday that read: “Thinking that you’re growing old? Don’t fret. You’re only becoming a classic”. It had the picture of a beautiful antique car on it in sepia tones.
I smiled when I opened that card. Actually, I was nowhere close to worrying about growing old at that point – because it was my 21st birthday! What was my cousin thinking? To give him his due – he is usually a very thoughtful person – he was probably laboring under the huge misapprehension that all women fell apart the minute they hit the big 20. Anyway, that was some years ago, but that witty sentence has stuck with me.
Okay, so what brought on this rambling of mine? A recent discussion with a friend that involved — gray hair. Now that is something that could very well bring on some serious case of fretting. Eek!
No, no, before you jump to any conclusions, I don’t have any. Gray hair, that is. Okay, may be just one or two. Well … more like a couple here and a couple more there, honestly speaking. You can’t really see them.
See, I’m trying very hard to become a ‘glass-is-half-full’ person full-time. This is my sincere effort at it. So, don’t you go shaking my newfound positivity by surreptitiously searching my head the next time I stand next to you!
So, anyway, when I looked in the mirror the other day, there they were, a couple of new ones poking out the top of my head. It looked like they were yelling, “Hey there! In case you haven’t noticed us, here we are, the two latest members of the aging-brigade!”
The texture of the gray hair perplexes me: why is it coarser and stiffer than normal hair? I think it’s a conspiracy of nature at the cost of us, vain humans. Gray hair is made that way just so you cannot successfully hide it underneath layers of normal hair.
Here are some tricky situations that could verily color those tresses the wrong hue:
- “You don’t look fat in that dress, honey! You look beautiful!” Then thinks to himself: “I really need to load up on better/more sincere-sounding adjectives”.
- “You want to pierce your tongue and get a tattoo? Why don’t we sit down and discuss it?”
- “I did encourage you to follow your dream, but I meant for you pursue it after work. I didn’t think that you’d go ahead and quit your job!”
- “Your mom is mad that I okayed your coloring your hair purple? Well, I change my mind too then — you should listen to your mom. Now, why are you screaming that I’m a liar and a wuss?”
- “Do we really need a risk analysis and contingency plan just to pick out the color of the paint for our bedroom?”
At this point in time, I’m fighting the urge to color my hair. I tend to wear any wayward gray hair proudly (in my hard-earned positive frame of mind) as a badge of honor. Really, each gray hair is a rite of passage into adulthood (and subsequent parenthood, if that applies), in my opinion.
Having said that, it doesn’t mean that I may not do a smart about-turn even as early as tomorrow and join the ‘I-am-worth-it-so-I’ll-color-my-hair’ brigade — I reserve the right to do that…
So, what is (would be) your relationship with these pesky nuisances? Would you proudly display them, as warriors of yore used to their battle scars? Or do you tend to break down and become a blubbering mess every time you discover a new one?