grey.

The past few days have been overcast. Boston has been gloomy, rainy, and grey. It is May, but there is a little bit of winter in every month in New England, and this month I am having a rough time. I have just completed five weeks’ worth of training for two different part-time online jobs, crammed for and taken the GRE, and adopted a dog for nine days while my friend and her husband are out of town. The dog and my two cats tolerated each other, but all three animals were on edge in my small apartment. I was stressed about their stress, guilty about leaving the dog in his pen at night so he wouldn’t scuffle with the cats, and overwhelmed by the major tasks still to complete: the wedding, the move, and the job(s) I’ll need to support us while my fiancé is in graduate school. Usually upbeat, my attitude was floating in a puddle of rainwater.

I arrived home last night after spending some time with my fiancé, most of which I spent coughing and complaining about the new dog allergy I thought I might have after sneezing all day. He suggested it might not be an allergy, but the onset of stress. I was not at my best, and I knew it. I took the dog out in the rain, grumbling as I stood there getting cold and wet while the dog sniffed around. I called my fiancé to apologize for being a crab, and assured him that I’d be better the next day. The next day I would be refreshed, another day older and wiser. Maybe the sun would come out.

The dog was sent to his pen, and I gave him a treat as I apologized. I assured him that the next day would be better, as I planned to take him back to his owners’ apartment and live out the rest of the nine days there. He looked at me, not understanding, and I knew that the only reason this was so stressful was that I truly care about animals. Having them stressed and fearful weighed on me; keeping the dog in a pen at night for his safety weighed on me; my cats’ distrust of me when I was with the dog weighed on me. I turned off the light and got ready for bed.

While brushing my teeth, I studied my face. My eyes were puffy from sneezing, and dark circles reminded me that I’d been waking up at six o’clock every morning to walk the dog after getting little sleep. I am not typically an anxious person, but with so many big changes I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.

I’ll look better tomorrow, I thought. And then I saw a glint in the mirror. No, it couldn’t be. I looked closer, my breath fogging the mirror as I studied the strand in the bathroom light. I’d just had my hair cut, and asked my stylist to alert me if there were any greys. She assured me that by the look of things, I had a while before I had to worry about that.

But it was there. I briefly convinced myself that it was just a normal strand that had lightened in the sun. And then reality reminded me that it hadn’t been sunny all day, and my natural hair color is so dark that even in the sun it would still be brown. This was grey.

I was already so weary and frustrated by my attitude that all I could do was laugh. Of course this would be the day I found my first grey hair. This grey, stressful, tired day.

***
I’ve had a day to think about it, and have decided that, like everything else found in nature, it can – and must – be beautiful.

Grey is steel: unyielding, powerful, reliable. Grey is strong.

Grey is rainclouds: watering earth, feeding life. Grey is nurturing.
Grey is mixture: not all black, not all white, a fair mix. Grey is balanced.

Strong, nurturing, and balanced: grey represents everything I want to be as a friend, a wife, a mother, and as one human being among billions trying to live this Life together.

So I left it there. I know when I see another I will pluck them both out, and once I have too many to pluck I’ll cover the grey with dye. But until then, I’m going to keep it as a reminder to be strong, to be nurturing, and to be balanced.

***
This week I had a conversation with a good friend (I’ll call her Carla) about marriage. She is against gay marriage, but one of her best friends from work is gay and recently married a woman. Carla attended the wedding to show her friend support even though she opposed the idea. Recently, however, the new marriage has begun to crumble. Carla has been there for her friend, listening, offering advice as one married woman to another, and has found herself in a surprising position – considering that something very black or white on paper looks very different on the face of a person she cares about.

“When she told me about the problems, I didn’t know at first if I should be trying to defend Marriage [as in, encouraging her friend to leave a gay marriage], or if I should be trying to defend her marriage. And I have found myself trying to convince her to save her marriage.”

I love Carla for this. At the end of the day, we mutually decided, it was more important for her to be a friend than a policy maker. Carla said she realized that she and her friend were no different – they are married women trying to love well and be loved. Carla has always been a wonderful friend to me, and I know that her friend is lucky to have such a grey person in her life – always strong, ever nurturing, beautifully balanced.

***
One of my favorite aunts has stopped coloring her hair. Her short, chic crop is a steely, silver hue, and she is radiant. She recently moved from a spacious home in a suburb to her own loft-style apartment in a converted mill. Like everyone, my aunt has had her share of grey days, of winter days in the summer, of stress and anxiety. But unlike everyone, she is resilient, and glows with optimism, faith, and endless energy to see this new stage of life as nothing short of wonderful. My traditional grandmother was startled by my aunt’s grey hair; I am more startled by her grey attitude. She is strong for herself, nurturing for her family, and finding balance in a new life. It seems to me that her hair couldn’t be anything but grey; any other color would belie what she’s come through.


***
Perhaps I’ve earned this single grey, as if my body wants to show me how I’ve grown. I’m certainly not old yet, but I’m older than I was in college, older than I was yesterday. I’ve done things that have caused me great pain, and I’ve known great joy. I’ve set and reached extremely high goals, and I’ve watched dreams evaporate.  My sister warned me that once I had kids the greys would multiply exponentially, and I laughed. I know she’s probably right, but I want to find some way that I can celebrate this strange rite of passage. Passage into a life where reality is more difficult, more complicated, and where the stakes are higher. Passage into a life where deeply caring about the needs of others comes at the cost of time, resources, energy, and a good night’s sleep. Passage into a life where a grey hair, like a scar or a medal of honor, means that I’ve worked hard, pushed through, and come out on the other side. I’ve done something, and lived something, and if I remain strong, nurturing, and balanced, the life ahead will be anything but grey.