I found a grey hair the other day. I don’t think it’s my first, it’s just the first one I’ve really noticed, probably because it’s near the front of my head. Last summer I looked in the mirror and saw what I thought were really blond hairs, just a few of them, and I was trying to work out whether they were actually blond hairs or greys. I’m not sure whether it was the lighting, the mirror or just my denial, but I’m sure they weren’t grey.

Do hairs have stages of going grey? How long do they take to go grey? Does a whole strand go or does it just start growing grey? Can you have half a grey hair? I don’t know.

I reckon they were blond hairs, bleached by the sun of going summer to summer when moving over here, because I can definitely tell now the ones that are grey. So now it’s just the inevitable aging process.

Which I’d like to say I’m completely OK with.

But that would be lying.


When I was 31 I wanted to stay that age forever; I had SUCH a good year and was pretty damn happy. Then at 35 I had a bloody great year and wanted to stay that age forever instead. So now, at 37, it’s probably fair to say that I will love future years but right now I don’t want to get any older. Can I just stop time please?

I’m edging towards the next decade seemingly faster than a bullet train and I don’t feel quite ready yet. I don’t want to get invisible woman syndrome. I don’t want grey hair, and I don’t want to have to start dying my hair because I don’t want grey hair. I don’t want my body to change. I don’t want to have to adult any more than I have to. I don’t feel OLD enough and I want to stamp my feet and have a tantrum.

I think heading towards a decade age makes me question my life; like am I where I wanted to be at this age? Although that of course means I have to think about where I thought I would be, which I’m not really sure about, because I’ve never actually have any fixed life goals or plans. So questioning this stuff seems pretty redundant. Hmm. Go figure.

Of course, I know that all these things don’t really matter. That I don’t have to dye my hair. That being older does not mean I can’t do the things I want to. That being older means being any less active, or fit. Blah blah.

In fact, the older I get the more plus points there are. Like feeling much more comfortable in my own skin. Like how I know myself so much better than I ever have, and trust my own judgement and feelings implicitly. Well, most of the time. And how I don’t generally give a shit what other people think or do, and I’m quite happy doing my own thing. I’m even OK with the amount of wrinkles I’ve now got.

But, there’s still that small part of me that isn’t quite ready yet, and it would be wrong of me to pretend otherwise. So until then, I shall continue with a sense of denial and start seeking out a decent hairdresser…


Published by Paps

I love running, writing, travel and adventure. I'll give anything a go once, and am always up for a laugh.

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