I just realized I’ve been applying hair color for almost 45 years. That’s a lot of goop and money.
I have a new hairdresser (okay, stylist. That’s what we’re supposed to call them now) who wondered about the work, time, and expense involved in maintaining the color situation (highlighting with foil). Yes, it’s a huge time suck, but I’ve been female for 60 years now, and I’m used to putting in the hours. In this case, I’ve resigned myself to sitting in that chair for 90 minutes every five weeks.
Anyway, the new person made my hair slightly darker and more monochromatic. A few days in, I realized I don’t care for it. It’s too youngish, and I feel ridiculous going to such lengths to not be what I am, which, I think, is completely gray. I don’t even know my own hair color. That strikes me as pathetic. Such a slave to fashion, hey? Well, no more. When I go back, I’ll tell her to start the transition to natural. Frankly, I’m a little nervous. Am I ready to walk the talk about aging joyfully, powerfully, and authentically?
It’s a rite of passage. Just like puberty, marriage, career, menopause, and retirement, this is a big spot on my timeline. I’m excited, because I’ll be the first of my sisters (and mother) to go fully gray. Think of all the time and hassle I’ll save!
But I’m late to the party. Recently, I told a group of friends I was sick of coloring my hair and thinking of going natural. They looked at each other with bemusement. They were all gray. How embarrassing to realize I’d been thrashing around in my own myopic perspective.
My problem is, I’m habituated. Isn’t that how it is – the gate’s been locked so long you don’t even notice when somebody leaves it open. If Bill doesn’t care, and I don’t care, who the hell am I doing this for?
So that’s my big news. I’ll keep you posted. I’m a little nervous but excited. So now here’s my question: what change did you make when you realized the gate was open?