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My December to Remember: Day 8

I’m going gray. I’ve been noticing a few more hairs crop up each and every day. I see them at the root. They’re all hidden under the top of my hair, but they’re there. I spent a good ninety seconds examining them in the bathroom mirror today, which isn’t the best use of my time when I’m in the middle of producing a three-hour news show. I was just so entranced by each and every silver strand. It made me think they all represented something; struggle, stress, sadness, or just plain getting older. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to take away from it all, but I do know that I’m not seeing it as a problem this time. I’m just seeing it as a part of who I am, mop of curly brown hair and all.

I don’t actually see myself as getting older right now. I don’t even see myself as getting any wiser, either. I’m just realizing more and more what I’m about. I can figure out how to make myself up in the morning, or realize how I should respond when tempers flare in the control room. I’ve had to comb through myriad versions of myself, trying to find something that feels effortless and smooth. It wasn’t easy, and there’s times it still isn’t. But there’s a comfort that wasn’t there before. A solidifying of who I am, and who I’ll always be, no matter how many knots in need of detangling I encounter along the way.

I’ve started taking ownership of my body in its current state. I’m in a never-ending cycle of weight loss attempts, gaining and losing the same ten, twenty, and thirty pounds over and over again. There’s no consistency with it. It’s not like I can just snip off a few pounds or go full panic-mode and chop it all off. I have to work much harder to get the body I desire. But right now, I’m loving what I’ve got. Every lump, bump, and curve on me. As long as I actively work to make it better, I can style it however I want. Part of making a real change first begins with a deep shampoo of self-acceptance, followed by a thorough conditioning that can help form the good habits and get me to where I want to be.

And all I’ve ever wanted was for someone to see what I see. To look at me and know exactly who I am. I may not have shaved my legs or washed my hair for a few days, but I’m in there just the same. There’s no need to be anyone else but me. One day, it won’t matter what color my hair turns as I age. We’ve all got to follow that same drumbeat as we march on and live our lives. Because we know at some point, there will come a time where we can’t just trim off the dead ends anymore. We’ll have our last cut, and then that’s that.

One day I know I’ll find the one who takes me in, flaws and all. Who’ll actually be excited to run his fingers through my hair and feel the natural oils. Italians come pre-greased after all. But for now, I’m on my own, staring in the mirror, contemplating if I should bring the bangs back or work with a middle part. I can do anything. At least I’ll finally be confident in the reflection, through good hair days and bad.

Long as I can grow it, I’ll be living it. I’ve got all the hair flip energy in the world to back me up.

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