“Let’s be honest, open and brave!”
“Soul on the Run” available everywhere (Balboa Press)
About three months ago, I finally said what I had been thinking for quite a while, “I want to stop coloring my hair.” My hairdresser was shocked and her friend at the next station was horrified. The first thing out of both of their mouths was, “Don’t, you’ll look old!” That had been my concern, too. But not quite as much as before. My soul was making a turn towards something new. This urge to let my hair go to its natural color came from a deeper place than even I understood at the time.
Pushing my inner voice quiet, I followed the course of least resistance and sat there for my usual monthly regimen of base color, highlights, lowlights and hairstyle—a three-hour ordeal. As I left the salon with my hair spiffed and “cool looking,” these questions rose clean and sharp in my mind: “Do I really want to continue this battle with my hair? Do I really want to sit in that chair every month?” I would begin my journey into answering these questions within the hour
Out of the blue I decided to go get a sandwich at a place I had not visited for a long time. I walked into the store and standing at the deli counter was a striking woman with an energetic poise. Her smile was engaging, as was her beautiful head of full-gray hair. I asked if she had a few minutes to speak with me. We spent about a quarter of an hour talking about her transition from color to her natural tone. When I thanked her for helping me in deciding if I was ready to take this leap myself, she thanked me for affirming that she was beautiful just as she was.
The image of this woman’s silver hair supported me as I went about my life over the next several weeks. What’s wrong with looking my age? I am almost sixty. I don’t want to be a younger woman. I love my spirit and my body. I love this age I am in now—one of growing wisdom and longer-lived knowing. So, why do I need to color my hair to a younger woman’s shade? This was not about anyone else. It was only about me. I realized that I had somehow become a prisoner of my own appearance.