A long, long, time ago, I told Mister that if my hair got too gray to fuss with dyeing it, it was just gonna go gray, and that was that, and hey, doesn't Emmylou Harris look stunning with those silver locks? Well, that time has finally arrived. I really liked having red hair all those years, but I've given up the dye box. 

I found my first gray hair 3 weeks after my 29th birthday. I'm 53 now and working on a couple of really good white streaks. There's still a little strawberry blonde near the ends, but it's mostly a salty-peppery-dark-ash-blonde at this point. And I'm okay with that. 

I'm not really afraid of aging. Sure, the physical changes and the random aches and pains can be annoying, but this is the natural order of things. If we live long enough, we age. There's nothing wrong with it, and there's no shame in it. So why do we keep insisting that Eternal Youth is some sort of holy grail? I spent my entire youth in a state of untreated depression, and in retrospect, it wasn't so great.

Now, don't get me wrong. If you want to look 25 forever, that's your prerogative, and as a Mary Kay lady, I'd be happy to help you with that. But by the same token, it's also your prerogative to *not* look 25 forever. I'm 53 and content to look my age - eye wrinkles, belly fat, and all. Well, I mean, I would like to reduce the belly fat for health reasons, since I have a family history of diabetes, but I'm not kidding myself that I will ever be a size 4 again. That ship sailed about 10 years ago. I'm still plenty strong and flexible for a roundish middle-aged lady, though, so don't misunderestimate me. (Yes, I know that's not a real word, but I like to bandy it about once in awhile, along with "strategery." Just a little something I picked up from the Bush years.)

Anyhow, what I'm saying is, don't feel pressured to look young forever. Take time to revel in the glory of being older and (hopefully) wiser. And don't forget to tell those kids to get off your lawn.