I Found a Grey Hair

Andy and I were coming back from a work conference recently, with all of the punch-drunk after effects that implies.  One the way home, everything was a little bit funnier, decisions were a little bit harder, and we were very much ready to finally get to bed.  Adam graciously offered to drive, which at least took the thousands of pounds of high velocity machinery out of my hands and we steadily bore down the interstate for the few hours home.  Energy began to wane for all three of us, so we elected to stop off and take a bio break.

I popped in line for some fast food and Andy stood behind me.  He reached up to the top of my head and announced "You have a grey hair!"  He pulled on the hair in question, confirming it to himself once again.

My response:  "Okay."

And that was it.  Even in my exaggerated state from the events of the day, I felt nothing about this.  Andy could have been pointing out that the particular beige color on the wall was called "eggshell."  Then, I felt that maybe I should be feeling SOMETHING.  I'm supposed to be embarrassed by this or existential dread or something, right?

Culturally, we're expected to fear getting older.  Signs like these are supposed to trigger an evaluation of self image, that particular pang of realization that everything is temporary.  Understanding our own mortality--even as a subconscious push--gives us the impetus to create, to "leave something behind."  We mark history with plaques, stories, and gravestones, afraid of being forgotten or leaving things unfinished.  We mourn the things we'll never to get do and opportunities not taken in lieu of others we did.  The quest to be remembered is a yearning for immortality, that we want to feel our lives had an importance outside of our experiencing it.

Whether this is something that is at the forefront of your mind or something just outside of your peripheral vision, mortality is a part of human existence.  An awareness of it drives some people more than others; ignoring it similarly drives some people more than others.

I'm aware of the lack of permanency in my life, where even the end of a season (whatever "season" might mean in the particular situation) does not bother me--I still have gratitude for the season that was as I move into the next.  I'm not ashamed of my age or a grey hair, even though there is a pressure to feel something about this.

Huh.