I never spent much time picturing my hair turning gray: sure, sometimes I imagine myself as an old woman, already gray, but that’s not usually about the hair. That’s about family or solitude or pain and suffering.
I have said that as soon as I started going gray, I’d start dying my hair, but secretly, I haven’t been so sure. Honestly, dying your hair is a lot of work, a lot of maintenance, and I’m kinda lazy when it comes to my looks. I barely brush my hair and I rarely get it cut–how would I keep up with color?
But when I pictured that day, I pictured my hair with a sprinkling of silver, strands lightly scattered throughout the brown. Never once did I imagine graying at the temples first. Why not, I wonder? That’s how my brother went gray. That’s how lots of people go gray. But you know, those people generally seem to be men.
Now that I’m finally here, I really understand why we dye our hair. And it probably is worth the work. But I’m also sort of curious about what it will be like if I just let it happen.