At heart, I am basically lazy and the thought of spending hours getting my hair dyed, not to mention the expense, seems like more effort than I can summon. This doesn't mean that I don't care about my appearance because I do.
My hair is gray. I know this. My husband knows this. Carmine, who colors my hair brown every few weeks, knows this. Anyone who looks closely at my roots a week or two after Carmine does her magic knows this. It is an open topic among my friends -- how almost all of us color our hair.
Last weekend I went on a date with someone new. As I was getting ready, I stared in the bathroom mirror while brushing my teeth, and sighed when I noticed my roots: a quarter-inch of silvery-gray seemed to have sprung up overnight and now bordered my dark brown tresses.
My haircut is OK, but tonight, I tied it back with some hair clips and saw the layers of brown and gray and lighter brown and highlights and once again, wondered how I will look when I fully inhabit my natural self and let my hair go gray.
When I think of Fifty Shades of Grey, I'm not thinking of the mouth wateringly naughty best seller; the one I just couldn't put down. I'm referring to the ever burgeoning growth of silver on the top of my head.
Sure it's fun when I'm mistaken for being 15 years younger, as happened last summer at a thriller writers conference I attended, but how important is that, really? Isn't what kind of person I am and what I've accomplished what matters most?
At the end of the day, whether you choose to wear gray hair or not, is a personal choice. It shouldn't be judged or categorized. My words won't change the stigmas that society sometimes projects on personal choice. So embrace who you are.