Gray Hair

2015-01-24

Written by Mandy

My heart still does a fluttering leap when I notice my gray hairs. They are still new to me. I feel a little guilty—the way I do when I see police lights in my rear view mirror. I’m staggered by the permanence of gray. I can’t undo time, or the fact that I’ve passed over. They announce it: I’m in a new phase.

That’s not bad (I remind myself).

No one is watching me. No one. I’m not famous. I don’t affect a large number of people. I can do whatever the hell I want.

I can be reckless and wild in the bedroom. I can try new things. I can say yes, be uninhibited, and go for it.

I can drink coffee, or tea. Or alcohol. For breakfast. Or maybe just water.

I can be ascetic. I can be decadent.

I am simple—just a pair of cords and a sweater. I am fussy—I drink from crystal glasses every day. Every. Day.

I am humble. I eat on the fly in my car all the time. And I am conscious. I do not eat from Styrofoam. Ever.

I am truthful. Painfully and beautifully truthful. And everything I write, say, and believe is a lie. Because we all are. We just are. And everything else beyond the simple description of being, is construct. Who knows—I may change my mind in 15 minutes. By then, being will be different. And it will be true. As always.

My gray hair is this:

A celebration

Permission

Fabulous

Radiant

Light

Nascent

Developing

Undeniable

Inevitable

Welcome

Feared

Loved

Curious

The sign of new things to come.

I’m not dead yet. That’s what gray hair means. It’s like a second chance. I spent too much time on facebook. I doubted myself. I got distracted. I put on weight. I yelled at the kids. I took my partner for granted. I failed in so many ways. But here it is, the gray hair. I endured, and I have this other half, maybe. This other half of life. Another chance.

Here we go.

And by the way, I did more than just fail and squander in the first half. I made two beautiful lovely conscious curious loving kids; built an irreverent, humor-infused, loyal marriage; and made loads of friends. I traveled. I moved several times—from one coast to another, and across a couple of oceans. I read books, watched movies, swam in the ocean, breathed through yoga, sang, listened, cried, laughed, and generally did it. I did it. And it was okay. The second half—I am expecting even more of myself in terms of conscious choices, consciousness, daring, and brilliance.

I just changed my mind. I wrote it all wrong. I defended my existence and how I’ve lived my life; I listed what I think I’ve accomplished. What a silly, jejune thing to do. I’m ashamed.

I expect myself not to do that by the time my hair turns totally gray.