Right now I am considering another drastic change in hue and while contemplating my new shade I have allowed my roots to make a solid appearance. I’m not happy. There is now a full-scale invasion of white strands marching along my parting and a touch of guerrilla warfare, giving me the ‘distinguished gentleman’ look, at my temples.
I’m terrified. I’m only in my early thirties, not yet a mother, and only married for three years. The steady invasion of white says only one thing to me and that is OLD. I’m not old, intellectually I know this but the fizzle of fear I get seeing these streaks of silver reminds me that life is not eternal and we have but a short time on earth to achieve our potential.
I will admit to a small amount of vanity, I have no problem with a full head of silver or white hair but the slow change from colour through the ‘salt & pepper’ stage just makes me think of slow decay.
Until I can rock a full head of silver tresses, I shall continue to colour my locks in whichever shade takes my fancy, to hell with acceptance of the aging processes. If a head of black streaked with pink and blue makes me feel youthful and vital I shall keep it.
My new mantra for the coming years; “Aging is a fact, growing old is a mentality”.