A few years ago I stopped putting color on my hair and decided to go au natural and embrace my changing hair color.
For most of my life I was blonde but a few years ago my hair began to turn darker (I blamed it on the lack of sunshine here in the Pacific Northwest) and I choose to have regular foil treatments to restore me to the blonde woman I was used to.
In time I became concerned about the chemicals in hair dye and decided to let my hair revert to it’s natural, decidedly un-blonde, state. It took some time for every last snippet of blonde to grow out and be cut off but eventually it did and every morning when I looked in the mirror I saw a brunette woman looking back at me. One more symbol, along with the lines on my face, that I wasn’t the same woman I had once been.
In recent years there have been more changes as gray, or silver, or white, or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, has joined the mix and I’ve wished my hair would change color faster than it is. After all, gray, or silver, or white is almost like blonde, isn’t it?
There’s something different about these new silver strands of hair though. The texture is different, it’s coarser and doesn’t always want to behave the way I want it to. My morning ablutions have become a battle of will as I attempt to force the silver hair go in a way it sometimes chooses not to.
C’mon, I plead (sometimes even whine) as I pat it down, smooth it over, and reach for the spray. You’ve been in this style for a few years. You know the routine.
But this silver hair has a mind of it’s own and chooses it’s own path. It’s like me as I settle in to my own maturity, become more deliberate in my choices, and obstinate about things I don’t want to do.
This morning as I observed that the silver strands were choosing to stand bolt upright despite my attempts to tame them, I couldn’t help but smile. It’s like my unruly hair is a symbol of the changes in my own maturing personality; it’s got a mind of it’s own.
And I’m okay with that.