Hello friends,
Last year around this time, I wrote about the new gray hairs emerging from my skull. I spun those grays into an embrace of death and decay. I let them anchor me in the present. I enjoy turning everything into poetry, making the mundane glisten and gleam. Sometimes, though, I allow that side of my brain to run wild with romance and metaphor, and I gloss over the mundanity those ideas sprout from.
Today, I noticed a new gray hair. They’re still few enough that I recognize ones I haven’t seen before. Initially, I thought of the post I linked above. But after a minute of contemplating my shiny new strand of hair, I recognized another truth, one not dressed up in verse and rhyme. Simply put: I’m bored with my hair.
I’ve played with many different hairstyles during my life. I’ve had pixie cuts, box-dyed bobs, and bangs all over the map. As a teenager, I even cut my hair into a tremendously ugly scene mullet, which I decorated with clips and barrettes galore. My hair has always been an outlet for creativity. Over the past few years, though, I’ve let it grow into a wavy mop of low-maintenance, naturally colored bliss. I like it, and I don’t want to mess with it. But this is the longest I’ve gone without changing my hairstyle since I was a child, and that itch for something new lies just below the surface. My new grays scratch that itch.
When I look in the mirror and see that subtle sheen in my bangs, I smile. There’s silver in them thar hills. Occasionally, I find myself sifting through my locks to find the few shimmering outliers. There are myriad ways to transform the grays into fear, longing, hope, wisdom, or rebirth. The metaphorical possibilities are endless. But beneath the desire to beautify and etherealize, an ordinary truth sits quietly—I think it looks cool. So often, we fear how our likes and dislikes will be perceived. We let others’ imagined opinions drive our own desires. But when I see the veil of silver falling over my aunt’s shoulders, I can’t wait until I look the same.
Until next time,
Yardena
Weekend Potpourri
Currently on repeat
Jane Ratcliffe describes how the heart, like the hair, can hold both love and grief.
This is about Italy, but it could be about anywhere.
Kayti Christian also wrote about the changed vantage point a year can make.
Nix, too, wrote about things that take time to decipher and unravel.
Thanks for reading. This edition of Letters on Being is free, but if you feel like giving me a little extra support, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Also, let me know how gray your hair is and how you feel about it.