The Magic Wishing Hair

Last night I found my first gray hair.

I was washing my face when I saw this wiry, silver unicorn hair protruding from my scalp, gleaming like the Star of Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. My first reaction was to pull it out, trichotillomania-style, throw it away and pretend it never existed. 

But then the significance of my discovery began to sink in. It was a milestone, much like my first tooth, my first word, my first period-- but so much scarier. As far as my body was concerned, I had hit my physical peak and it was all degeneration and decay from here on out. I was shell-shocked. Twenty years old just feels so young. I feel like I have my whole lifetime ahead of me, like I've accomplished relatively nothing in my short 7,450.941 days I've been post-uterus. I began noticing little wrinkles around my eyes in the mirror, moles on my arms and back I need to have checked for melanoma, stretch marks on my inner thighs and spider-veins where I cross my legs. I wondered how long that gray hair had been hiding in there and if there were any more lurking out of sight. 

I texted my dear friend, Andee, a picture of my special new hair (below).

She responded with these wonderfully wise words:

"Maybe it's a magic hair."

I snorted to myself and quipped, "Yeah, maybe it's a magic wishing hair." But, I let that idea stew around all night, thinking about what that would mean-- a magic hair.

In a way, that one hair symbolized my sweat. It symbolized my determination. It symbolized all the of the late nights I've spent working on school work, the early mornings trying to get myself to work, the trials and travels and heartache and good friends and adventures and everything I've lost and loved and learned in my life. It symbolized everywhere I've been and everywhere I'm going-- hopefully, a lot of really wonderful places. So I guess it is a magic wishing hair. I guess I'm kind of proud of it. Getting older is kind of a beautiful thing.

Let the aging process begin!