A couple days ago I was a few minutes late for work. Traffic? Beautiful as always on my sidestreet route. Weather? Crisp and dry. Shower? Night before. Location of keys? Predictable. Hair? Graying.
Yep. Graying. It’s been headed in that direction for a while — I lived in Fort Collins when the first one emerged (and was promptly plucked), which would have dated it to approximately the fall of 2005. Since then, I’ve pulled out a few more — maybe 6 total. And I guess I should mention that I can’t leave them in my head. I should (I know) but it’s just so irresistible to pull them out and examine them.
The other morning there were two, and what’s more is that they were both really long, like 4 inches or so. Which means they’d been growing gray for several months unnoticed, and that disturbs me little bit, as do the other four I found later today. If they’re only visible in my part, which I change, but not by much, there are probably several dozen more scattered across my scalp.
I knew I had a problem, but I didn’t really think about how extensive it could actually be until today. It feels very much like the beginning of the end. The end of what, though, I’m not sure. I don’t really feel like adolescence has ended completely, and I have the occasional breakouts to show it, not to mention at least as much, though different, angst. So now I’m working on old age? Isn’t there some natural law against the concurrence of gray hair and pimples? There should be. Really, there should.
The part of me that believes in a mind/body connection and the importance of nutrition wonders if I ate something to spur this. Or worried too much. Or drank too much or didn’t get enough of some vitamin. And then part of me sighs a little, grateful that I can just move on over the hill, glad the uncomfortable years of not knowing where I fit in the world could be coming to an end at last. But I don’t think they will, and the rational part of me thinks gray hair has nothing to do with anything other than a loss of melanin. I’m little excited that they’re pure, wiry white, and not gray, but that will probably change. Or I’ll keep plucking them until there is no hair to turn white or gray. I feel weird about dyeing it now. The words dyeing and dying are creepily close in this situation…