The Root of My Problems...

This morning I decided it was time to get to the root of my problems: my roots! A handful of randomly placed silvery strands were trying to blow my cover. Trying to lead people to believe that I'm old.

It was time to fight back!

Before I could even fully open my eyes this morning, I was mixing pungent chemicals and pulling on plastic gloves. Reading directions wasn't necessary. I'd done this before. Soon after, I was dropping the applicator brush, dotting my face with color, and losing the battle to keep an old towel on my shoulders. Touching up your roots before you're completely awake... before even having your morning coffee, isn't the best plan of action against those tattle-tale tresses, although it's hard to get frustrated, when you aren't even sure that you're conscious.

I really don't have many gray hairs (yet), but I do have evil ones! It seems they have decided to sprout in the most obvious areas... like each side of my part. Because I have dark hair, even one solitary silver hair shines as bright as a lighthouse beacon in an oceanic storm. I had been watching them get longer, growing more obnoxious as the days passed by. I was just lost in a state of perplexity... analyzing how I truly felt about the fact that I am getting older; so I allowed myself time to get to the root of the problem.

I've either aged a lot in the last year, or I've just had too much time to pay attention to the most minute things while I've been unemployed. I see little lines around my eyes, and on my chest. And those pesky gray hairs... My eyes are taking longer and longer to "de-puff" in the morning...

It's happening. I'm aging!!!!

Hello!

You're soon to be 38 years old.

Okay. So, I'm at an age where I'm expected to have wrinkles and gray hair. But, I'm also expected to be married, have children, a stable income, and a 401k with more money in it than mine has. Instead, I'm single, barely dating, childless and lacking a ticking clock, employed part-time temporarily, and have less than ten grand for retirement. The problem is, there isn't really a problem!

I'm pretty happy!

Practical-thinking people must think I'm nuts, but the only thing I'm concerned with is being physically unappealing when I'm 70 and still looking for "the one." But then again, I won't be the only wrinkled soul in that age-bracket, just maybe the only one wearing a skirt!

I was/am a late bloomer. I get this. Perhaps I fear that I'll run out of time before I truly find my way. Before "my calling" actually gets through my busy mind. I'd like to have kids, maybe, but not now... and the shelf-life on my carton of eggs shortens every day. Am I on the right track, or on a runaway train full of regrets? Why did I make life so difficult if it was really this easy?

Life seemed hardest when I worried about other people; other things. Now that my life has become literally simple, the intrinsic value of my very own existence is simply more clear. So what if I'm not the next Octo-mom, Donald Trump, or blushing bride! And so what if I have a couple gray hairs! I'd like to think of them as little reminders to make the most of what I do have; the most of my life... because even though the gray hairs might, my life, won't last forever.