A woman I never met changed my life. Well, at least my vision of my older physical self. I was at a conference in Austin, Texas and saw her from the window of a shuttle bus. She had a shoulder length mane of thick, shimmery hair; silver on top with lots of dark lowlights that made it look as if her hair was black with chunky silver highlights. It was amazing, beautiful, stylish gray hair. I was so excited. It was the first time I saw a live person with gray hair that looked funky, young, and fresh. I wanted it that very day.
I’ve been getting gray and covering it up for nearly ten years and decided that fateful day that I was ready to walk the walk of the authentic middle-aged woman. I was also tired of the time and expense of keeping my gray roots covered. Which has nothing to do with authenticity, but is a factor nonetheless. That being said, it’s not so easy to stop dyeing. There’s a lot of stuff around a decision like this. I’m in my mid-forties. I’m still pretty attractive. I was quite content to be a sexy redhead. I don’t want to look old. I’ve only seen three women in the past six months who seem to be fifty or under and have gray hair. It’s not a popular stance.
My girlfriends and sisters think I’m crazy. They are proud of me, I’m their heroine, they wish they were as brave and daring as I, they are sure I’ll look stunning in the end, but they think I’m crazy.
And they are willing to let me go this road alone.
I’d like to use the buddy system. To have someone who wouldn’t let go of my hand until the field trip is over. Someone who would make sure I didn’t get lost along the way, either falling back in cowardice to the dye job or listening to the voice in the mirror that whispers, “Oooh, baby, you are old! Totter on back to the couch and read that AARP magazine.” (Can you get a subscription if you are under fifty?) Instead, the sisterhood is slowly backing away.
The men in my life are far more honest. I’m fortunate to have wonderful men in my life, namely, my dad, my sweetheart, my son, and my grandson. My dad thinks I’m beautiful no matter what, and says I look great with the silvery hair. I think it’s because I look just like my mom now and he thinks my mom is just gorgeous. Isn’t that nice after almost fifty years of marriage? There’s the end of the supportive stance.
