What do you think of when you think of grey hair? Do you see it as a sign of aging, fragility, wisdom or something in between? I have to admit that for many years I believed that grey hair was a clear sign of “old age”. When I was younger, I saw grey-haired people as those who had reached their senior years. Along with that came all sorts of other assumptions about said grey-haired persons: things like, they’re probably retired, have multitudinous grandchildren, live in a gated community, and play lawn bowling as a hobby.
It’s time to let go of pretenses. It’s time to just be you.
I don't have grandchildren, I’m most certainly not retired, and I don't play lawn bowling (although the thought of doing that does appeal somewhat). And yet, despite all of these things, I recently, and intentionally, joined the ranks of grey-haired people.
In my early twenties I noticed the odd grey hair popping up on my head. My Dad began to go grey in his twenties as well, but he was a man and culturally it was, and still is to some degree, more acceptable for a man to go grey than a woman. As I matured through my twenties and thirties, I began to feel more and more uncomfortable with the changing colour of my hair and so I decided to take the plunge and began to dye my hair.
Little did I know that that initial action would compel me to continue dying my hair well into my 50’s and early 60’s. You see, much like reaching into a bowl of potato chips and taking just one, you then can’t seem to stop and the next thing you know you’ve eaten the whole bowl. Or, in my case, some 30 years later I was still dyeing my hair.
I no longer see it as a hindrance, or statement of age, but rather a statement of experience and, dare I say, wisdom.
The satisfaction of having dyed hair began to fade a few years back. I wanted to say goodbye to the dye, but I was afraid of what I’d look like with grey hair. What would people say? What would they think of the “new me”? What would I think of me? Oh, so much ego there! The more I meditated on it the more I came to realize that what I really was afraid of, more than anything else, was simply change. I was afraid of the unknown, the incalculable, the unpredictable, and the transition from dyed to grey that would be a part of the process.
What made me face my fears? It was the voice inside me, the quiet guiding voice that never steers me wrong. It's the voice I hear when I let the world quiet down, and I sit or walk in silence. That voice said to me, “It’s time to let go of pretenses. It’s time to just be you. It’s time to embrace the change and find joy in who you really are and what you really look like. Be not afraid for there is much freedom to be found in being you.”
And so, this summer the dyeing stopped. It was uncomfortable at first as my grey roots shot forth with vigour and lengthened. Each time I looked at my reflection, I realized the extent of the greyness and slowly embraced it. By mid-summer I had my first haircut, and it was a moment of joy for me. As I sat in the hairdresser’s stool and looked in the mirror, surrounded by the remnant clippings of my false-coloured hair, I smiled and said, “Hello you!” Since that day I have fully embraced my grey. I no longer see it as a hindrance, or statement of age, but rather a statement of experience and, dare I say, wisdom.
This decision allowed my true self to shine forth. Every grey hair on my head tells a story: stories of strife, stories of deep sadness, struggle and disappointment but also wonderful tales of sustaining courage, unstoppable joy, humour, and everlasting love…all bundled into one head of grey hair.
So, today I celebrate my greyness and the freedom it has given me to once again, embrace change and live a life of truth; truth knowing that what people see when they see me is simply me…grey hair and all.
And although I’m far from retiring, I may yet take up lawn bowling!