aging

Yesterday, I stood in front of the mirror, my hair all mussed, my shirt hanging off the kilt of my shoulder and I noticed one lone hair, shining brighter than the rest, attempting to craggily stand itself up into the air. I smiled, pulled it away from the rest of its brunette companions and marveled: this white hair was proof that I was again! It was not silvery gray, like many others that tuck themselves here and there; no, this one was white! A shimmering beacon of the next frontier for my life. Unlike perhaps many I know, I didn't freak out, I didn't immediately think, "Now I need to start dyeing my hair." No, I just thought, "I guess I am living." And so I tucked the lone hair back with the rest and went on my way. Read more »