I was very busy being busy, keeping myself distracted from the anxiety and fear. Work helped, a fabulous vacation across an ocean helped, and a harebrained idea knocking around inside my head helped.
In a staff meeting in November, I boldly announced to my coworkers that I was going to bleach my hair blond in honor of my surgery.
I figured being housebound for months would be a perfect time to do something dramatic with my appearance with plenty of time to change back to “normal” if it was an epic failure. Plus, more importantly, it gave me something different and more exciting to talk about than the impending fusion of several vertebrae in my lower back.
I also knew that if I finally shared my idea out loud, I would go through with it. No chickening out once I spoke it to the universe and my friends.
And so, the weekend before my surgery I spent several back-achingly painful hours in a salon chair unsuccessfully trying to become a platinum blond.
“You have very strong hair. This is the best I can do,” the colorist apologized as I gaped at the mirror.
When wet, my blond hair looked like a cross between Big Bird and the Heat Miser. When dry, it looked like this.
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| My surgeon didn't recognize me and my roots were showing by the time I left the hospital a week later. For months I looked like a skate rat. (Urban Dictionary: "A skater that has nothing better to do than skateboard, so he/she skateboards every day of the week, no matter the weather or condition, out of sheer boredom or desire to go pro or get sponsored.") |
Something instinctively told me I would look better with whiter hair than yellow hair. Clearly, yellow is not my best color. But I wonder if white is?
I’m seriously contemplating finding out.
I’ve been coloring my hair since my mid-20s. I started out just plucking out the grays but when that lead to cramping arms and hamster-nest collections of hair strands in the sink, I introduced myself to Miss Clairol. We were buddies for a long while until she decided to reformulate herself. I then found a new friend in this nice lady.
Although Truffle and I have had a monthly date for years, I’m starting to think I might be ready to consider ending our friendship.
For several years I have found myself fascinated by women who have younger faces and white or gray hair. I envy their boldness to ignore societal expectations. I am in awe of their sense of self and self-acceptance. I crave their freedom to not have to build in the ritual of plastic gloves and smelly chemicals and timers.
About 8 years ago, I read an unexpectedly liberating book called Going Gray by Anne Kreamer. I don’t recall many details about the book now, other than when looking at lots of before and after photos of women who took the gray plunge, they all seemed to share a striking and noticeable peace and serenity in their “after” photos.
It was that discovery that made me resolve to allow my now unknown natural hair color to reveal itself sooner rather than later.
I arbitrarily decided I would ditch the hair coloring by my 50th birthday. Easy to proclaim when one is 41. I’m now a few months shy of my 49th birthday. With the expected 4-6 months grow-out process, it’s about to get real if I am going to keep my promise to myself.
I’ve mentioned my Freedom to Be Me plans to a few people over the past year or so. Pretty much every man has been neutrally disinterested or very encouraging. Rob assures me he will find me beautiful whether I am a brunette or a silver vixen…just as long as I promise never to go blond again. Can’t say I blame him.
Another woman’s husband quietly shared that he wished his wife would consider going gray because he sees how much pressure she puts on herself to project an image that is increasingly not authentically her. What an unexpected insight!
Women have had mixed reactions. Some have told me I could totally rock gray or white hair. But most have warned me away from my idea; some even literally yelling “DON’T DO IT” before I can even finish my “I’m thinking of going gray for my 50th birthday” sentence. I honestly don’t know if they are rejecting the idea of me embracing my gray or of a woman in general doing so. I’m not sure which saddens me more.
And so, here and now, I am speaking my plans more publicly. Out loud. To the universe and my friends.
Partly to get my plans out of my head, partly to seek wisdom and suggestions from women who have blazed the silver trail ahead of me, and partly because about 5 weeks after I start this epic journey in several months, there will be no hiding or denying it.
So stay tuned! And if I wear hats for six months, you’ll know why.
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