shapeshifting

Here it is at four and a half weeks. Typically, I am impatient. When I'm at home, I twist back the front of my hair and pin it so that I can see more grey. I want it to grow faster. When I look in the mirror, the grey looks right against my skin while the rest looks hard.

Who knows? Maybe in a month or so I'll bore of it and not want to spend the summer with the two tone hair but today I don't think so. Today I think I'm more likely to cut a load off as soon as it'll look okay.

It makes me feel brave and wild and determined. All things I seriously need to feel. It feels like the truth.

Maybe it sounds strange to describe the simple act of letting your roots grow through as a profound experience but believe me, profound it is.

As you can see, up close there's a lot of grey for just four weeks! And the hair at the ends has horrible colour build-up despite my best efforts to avoid it. I should say, I'm using medicated shampoo at the moment. Not for dandruff - I've never had it, touch wood - but because it lifts colour out of your hair. The newer hair, with less colour to start with, is clearly fading fastest.

Also, in all my un-Photoshopped glory, you can see that when my hair is down or up, you can only see a little bit of the grey. I usually wear it up.

I have to say, it's waaaay whiter than I thought it would be and it goes further back. But then I go pretty far back myself.

Next update in a month.

I've written before about my propensity to do things a decade later than the norm.

In my teens I packed a bag and ran away from home to live with my Nan.

In my twenties I had An Unsuitable Boyfriend who knocked me up twice and (on other occasions) all but destroyed my self-esteem. Yes, I'm pro-choice; no, I've never regretted it; that's all I have to say about that.

In my thirties I went to college and qualified for a new career. Twice. Then worked them both at the same time.

As I hit my forties I found A Suitable Man - who, despite the current and huge pressures on our relationship, will always be my suitable man - got my first proper job and became a mother.

When I was 16 did I want to be 6? No.

When I was 26 did I want to be 16? No.

When I was 36 did I want to be 26? Oh dear GOD no.

Now I'm 46 do I want to be 36? No. And yet...kinda.

Online and off I know some incredible 30something women who are truly inspiring and I am drawn to them. I was pretty cool in my thirties and I'm proud of the self-discovery I went through but I did it alone. So alone. Now I see the pleasure of sharing that experience and heaven knows I still have some self-discovery to do! I think enjoying their company/blogs/books so much can mean I forget that I'm in my forties. And that's a crying shame because look, it's an incredible decade - certainly the richest I've lived through so far - and I'm in danger of missing it.

I've fought getting older. I've blogged about how I hate the physical changes. I'm realising that this battle with my reality is contributing to my current depression. There's no point in fighting it. There's nothing to be gained from passive surrender. So much to be learned from embracing it.

WTF?

Too effing right I'm wise. Some days. Others I'm full of crap but I know some stuff, sure.

A woman I've quickly grown to love (and not just for your delicious port wine spirit energy, Lisa) emailed me yesterday and said that she looked up to me. I burst out laughing because right now I'm down in a hole while she is stepping into her power but it stuck with me as Lisa's words often do. And I thought that yes, I could be that person who sometimes gets it right. I could be someone that was looked up to when I'm not goofing around or losing my shit over something utterly inconsequential. And when I tried that on for size...well beggar me if it didn't feel like a perfect fit. I don't own it yet, that coat of respect, but I've a picture pinned to my noticeboard and I'm saving up my pennies.

I've done some looking in the mirror this past week or so and I haven't recognised the woman looking back at me. She looked wrong somehow, as if she was trying just a little to hard to stay still while her life moved inexorably onward. As I sighed and reached for the hair dye, as I do every three weeks, I got it. I knew what I needed to do.

I like to wear a mark of transition, always have. In the past those marks have been jewellery or ink and neither of those are obsolete but this particular transition has its own special mark. So here's a plan that may well not last past Spring but I'm going to give it a shot...I'm letting my hair grow through, grey and all. I will be wearing the badger stripe with pride!

Of course I did my online research. This site inspired me. I'm not planning the crop method, my buzzcut days are over and I prefer to play with the badger stripe in more creative ways. I may succumb to a midlength layering once I have a few inches of grey to play with. I may chicken out in a few weeks and reach for the medium caramel brown but for now I'm excited.

I have what I call my tiara of grey at the front of my head. The brown/grey mix goes all the way to my crown but the tiara from temple to temple is virtually white. It could be really cool. Either way it'll be real.

It's also going to be a true rite of passage for me and it's going to be tough. Especially at work where all but two of the staff are way younger than me. I suppose I'm testing myself. Do I want this? Am I really ready to step up?

Today I say yes. Bring it on.