I saw it. I pretended I didn't see it, and then it brought reinforcements. I had no choice but to confront them.
Newsflash: They're coming for you, too.
That's right, folks. Gray hair. Being that I've completed over four decades I really shouldn't be that surprised. And yet...
A few months ago, I was brushing my teeth and made the mistake of looking in the bathroom mirror. A displaced piece of curly silver lint was staring back at me. I tried to remove it to no avail and much to my horror, I realized that it was attached.
In that moment, I faced a crisis. Do I tear it out? Do I reach deep into consciousness and accept what the present moment was offering me? After all, I am supposed to be "spiritual." Why should Mother Nature upset me? I'm conscious enough to go with the flow.
I took a breath and left it alone. I laughed at my idiocy and carried on with the day.
A few days later, again in the bathroom mirror, I noticed another one much closer to my hairline. This one made me contemplate. After all, it was more likely to be noticed. Again, I took a deep breath and left it alone.
Two days later, I spotted a lone strand in my eyebrow. Oh, hell no. Now they had gone too far. I screamed, "What the hell kind of sorcery is this?" and plucked it out faster than you can say get the (insert choice of expletive) out of here.
(Alright, confession time: This is all a lie. The first gray hair didn't appear on my head. Those strays don't really count, anyway. But, I digress.)
The thing is that I see women with the prettiest silver hair and compliment them on it all the time. I didn't realize gray hair was fine for them but that it would throw me into a mini-existential crisis.
I had to ask myself if it was a matter or vanity. Did I feel like youth had passed me by? Was I afraid that it somehow took away from so-called beauty?
But that wasn't it. I've seen several silver-headed knockouts. So, why was it that this filament of keratin seemed to cause some amount of anxiety?
I panicked because I realized time was passing me by and now leaving reminders of the ultimate countdown. In that single strand was a message. Time was gently whispering in my ear, "Do it now."
The ego's lie of immortality lulls me everyday. It promises a tomorrow that it can't guarantee and I believe it. I procrastinate. I put aside my life's desires for one reason or another and tell myself that perhaps the time isn't right.
Those gray hairs tell me otherwise. What are they telling you?
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