It came with the grays

“Grow old with me!  The best is yet to be.”  ~Robert Browning

Just above my left temple I have a little patch of these wiry gray hairs. They’re short and do not conform to the curl pattern of their surrounding brethren but instead decide to stand out on their own not only in color but, man, it’s like they’re trying to get my attention. I look at them each morning and say “I see you! You can stand down now!” but they don’t listen. They’re just there mocking me responding with a curt, “We’re here to stay, lady. Get used to it”. So I have. I part my hair in certain parts and what used to be well hidden and a surprise, I now see more silver spots that stick out like a sore thumb – at least to me – only slightly covered from a long ago dye job.

In reality, they don’t bother me. They’re just there and I have no clue whether to (re)dye or not to dye nor is something that consumes me each day. I’m too busy focusing on my mid-section to worry about the state of my hair. There’s only so much vanity to go around, you know.

People say that with grays comes wisdom. Usually women who boast that they’ve earned their silver stripes and it proves something. I usually eye roll to that one but now I sorta get it. There are things that come with quickly approaching 30 that I didn’t have at quickly approaching 20. Things like knowing that when things are bad, they could be worse. Or why sometimes flats are the best decision. Or why instead of screaming and crying you just have to sigh and move on.

Before I found my approach to adulthood to be nothing more than a royal pain in the ass. An endless cycle of bills and guilt for not doing it right. Oh, there are still bills and guilt that ends with just sucking it up and heading to work even though your throat might close up on itself but then there’s the other stuff wherein you realize how fascinating this entire growing up process is. Sometimes I feel like I’m on the outside looking in at someone else’s life. There’s some other woman traipsing the north east and fretting over organizing campaigns and shaking hands with that member of congress. Someone else is being mature and realizes that hating takes up too much time and that falling in like is the best feeling ever. I still don’t feel like an adult, but who actually does?

I just finished a brief text conversation with an ex. The Ex to be exact. The one who left me heartbroken and sitting at Coldstone Creamery each afternoon shoving my face into a giant milkshake. We were discussing a conference that we’d both be attending and instead of leaving that conversation feeling hatred and that continued hurt. I told him that I looked forward to seeing him then and there. I cannot wait to catch up and I mean that. With those gray hairs comes the realization that things keep moving, feelings keep evolving, I keep growing. With the age and the grays I finally see me as a better version of myself. I like it here.