So fitting to write about growing older after my last post! My thirty-fifth birthday is less than a month away, and I apologize if my posts become more self-reflective than usual (if that's at all possible). It's just that birthdays are never what I imagine them to be.
When I was ten, I didn't want anything to change. Later that year, my family moved across the country.
When I was fourteen, I thought sixteen would solve all my problems.
When I turned sixteen, I thought eighteen signified that I was ready for the world.
When I turned eighteen, I thought I would have all the answers by the age of twenty.
Then, what a shock when at the age of twenty-one I still didn't have all the answers(!)
I got married before I expected, became a mother before I expected, and spent my thirtieth year pregnant, working twenty-five hours a week while my husband tried to find work, and moving in with my in-laws.
And now this...
White hairs! When I look in the mirror, I see locks that are rich and black (though oftentimes frizzy). But when I lift up a small portion of hair from the back of my head, I see not one, not two, but at least ten strands of white hair! (okay, maybe I exaggerate a little, but I definitely see at least four strands of white.) I can't imagine what people must see when they stand behind me.
When I was ten, I didn't want anything to change. Later that year, my family moved across the country.
When I was fourteen, I thought sixteen would solve all my problems.
When I turned sixteen, I thought eighteen signified that I was ready for the world.
When I turned eighteen, I thought I would have all the answers by the age of twenty.
Then, what a shock when at the age of twenty-one I still didn't have all the answers(!)
I got married before I expected, became a mother before I expected, and spent my thirtieth year pregnant, working twenty-five hours a week while my husband tried to find work, and moving in with my in-laws.
And now this...
White hairs! When I look in the mirror, I see locks that are rich and black (though oftentimes frizzy). But when I lift up a small portion of hair from the back of my head, I see not one, not two, but at least ten strands of white hair! (okay, maybe I exaggerate a little, but I definitely see at least four strands of white.) I can't imagine what people must see when they stand behind me.
I do think that one sure sign of a woman's confidence in herself is her ability to grow her hair gray. Those with lighter hair can do so with relative ease, but white hair shine like a neon light in my raven hair. When I had a few white hairs, I left them in, allowing them to sparkle in a 'joie de vivre' sort of way. Now that I'm finding more and more white hairs on my head, I have to resist the urge to dye my hair, or spend an hour in front of the mirror hunting down each and every white strand.
Is this the year to let my gray show? Can I face thirty-five (though it is still very young, according to many) with a renewed outlook, so I can face forty, fifty, and sixty with grace and a sense of adventure?
Is this the year to let my gray show? Can I face thirty-five (though it is still very young, according to many) with a renewed outlook, so I can face forty, fifty, and sixty with grace and a sense of adventure?
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