Birthdays (and White Hairs)
Turning thirty really threw me. And as I was sadly saying goodbye to my twenties, I began discovering my first gray hairs. Actually, I get stark white hairs. Brilliant white hairs with a bit of a crimp, that stand up at attention right smack in the center of my part. I wish I could say that I entered my thirties with dignity and grace…but that would be a lie. The tweezers were wielded, defending my brown hair against any and all white invaders. And I insisted to anyone that listened that I was actually celebrating my second 29th birthday.
Thirty-one wasn’t any more welcomed than thirty was. In fact, it seemed worse. Not only had I turned thirty, now I was in my thirties. And the white hairs were showing up with greater frequency. I was still peering into the mirror every morning, wielding the tweezers with a grim determination. But those unwanted hairs came faster, and grew quicker, as the months blew past.
Over the past week I’ve taken a few deep breaths, and made the decision to let all those negative feelings go. Today is my thirty-second birthday. I’m in my thirties. And I’m beginning to finally appreciate the fact that, so far, my thirties have been incredibly good to me.
This morning I discovered yet another inch-long, crinkly white hair poking up from my part. Grabbing for my tweezers, I got ready to pluck, and then paused. These white hairs have stories to tell, stories of adventures and life experiences, stories of growth and learning and maturation. These stories define who I am, who I’ve been, and who I’m in the process of becoming. So, I put the tweezers down. It’s time to make peace with my white hairs.
Besides, as my friend’s daughter claims, those white hairs look so “very pretty and sparkly” against the brown.