It happened again today. I leaned into the mirror and noticed a single strand—of the sheerest white—next to my familiar auburn strands. Sigh. It has begun.
I can’t complain though. I’m closing in on forty and have yet to color my hair. This newest evidence, however, indicates that I won’t go gray or silver. No, I am going white.
My husband started turning gray in his twenties. So I guess we will match soon enough.
As I veer around this bend in life, moving from one season to the next, I am reminded of the wisdom once bequeathed by the Skin Horse—the aged toy who shared with the new velveteen rabbit what it means to become real.
Becoming real, he says, “takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly except to people who don’t understand.”
So my new-found strand of gleaming white hair testifies to this thing called real. Actually, it testifies to the fact that I am getting older, and I suppose it is up to me whether I will truly become real.
I pray that I will.
Has the aging process gotten you thinking about “becoming real”? Have you read The Velveteen Rabbit lately?
Excerpt from “The Velveteen Rabbit” by Margery Williams Bianco.
Today, I’m joining Lisa-Jo, taking 5 minutes to write about “real.”