March
31, 2001
Last day of the month. Does this
mean sunshine and green grass soon? Please!
i cut my hair the
other morning. i woke up early 'cause i'd gone to
bed by 9 the night before (not feeling good again - i
swear it's the dust and dirt in this place right now) so i
decided to get out of bed instead of tossing and turning,
waiting for the alarm to ring, and trim the ends. It
had been at least two months, probably longer, since i'd
touched it last.
i truly hate my
hair. It's baby-fine and wispy and i'm balding in
the exact same pattern my mother did - right across the
front like men usually do. Thick full bangs are a
distant memory. It hasn't got a lot of gray yet, but
sometimes i wish it would just get on with it since gray
hair is usually coarser and easier to work with. For
now i can comb and style and my hair generally looks
okay. But i know what the next ten years will
bring. i'm not looking forward to it.
And while i was
cutting i was thinking all this and seeing myself look
more and more like my mother and i suffered a moment of
self pity. i started crying. Not a good thing
to do when one's eyes are already hurting from the dust
and too much computer work.
Then i got angry
with myself for being so petty. There are lots of
things much worse than getting old or losing one's hair.
Yet i don't believe i'm so shallow a person as to be
completely labelled vain. Maybe that's why i get so
confused over all of this. My mother's message to
me, in everything she did and said, was that appearance
was everything. Without that you had nothing.
She taught me
that good grooming was essential and that being attractive
was the goal, leading to success once achieved. And
sure, grooming is important - it's part of good health
even - but i think she took it to the extreme. And
what good is perfectly applied makeup and well styled hair
and expensive clothing if what's behind all that is
flawed?
She didn't teach
me how to accept aging. She didn't teach me how to
be graceful about the lines accumulating around my
eyes. Perhaps because she couldn't. Perhaps
because she'd never had a role model herself, to learn
from, since her mother died so young. Perhaps because
she'd spent most of her life feeling that she wasn't
pretty enough. If she had been, then she wouldn't
have had so many problems, right? i feel sad for her
when i have these moments when i remember how she
thought.
Her solution for
the wrinkles was not of acceptance. She paid a
doctor to unsuccessfully take them away. Was she so
focused on the shell of herself because she was afraid to
look inside to the person she was? So then the
constant obsession with appearance became a bandaid.
Like our house - it had a museum like appearance that had
my mother's friends drooling in envy - yet all that
fanciness was also a bandaid. It hid the unhappiness
within.
So i don't know
how to age gracefully. Maybe the whole concept is
just a myth? i struggle with not getting depressed
when i look in the mirror. i chant things like
"but you are a good person and no one can take that
part away. So what if you don't turn heads
anymore?" i try to convince myself that it's
better to be listened to than looked at. Yet i'm
still constantly startled when someone does listen.
i've only ever understood the 'looked at' part.
i find myself
watching older women now. i observe how they present
themselves and how they look, inside and out. Most
have similarities in common - a plumpness of body, gentle
lines scratching their face, and a lovely, groomed, full
head of hair. It's as though they focus on keeping
their hair perfect as the rest of them
changes.
But what i really
notice more is their spirit. There seems to be a
lightness in their approach to things, an acceptance that
i never saw in my mother. Perhaps that is the
element she hadn't found yet? Or would she ever
have? Somehow i don't think so.
Still i
understand how she felt about her hair. She used to
say - and i think it now myself - "if i have to get
old, couldn't i at least have kept my hair to make
pretty?"
And i'm trying to
stop thinking that. Every intellectual ounce of me
knows that hair won't make me pretty, or younger for that
matter. It takes much more than the outer shell to
make one pretty.
i think my friend
S knows this. She crops her hair as short as
possible to be completely carefree. Her only
indulgence is colouring it a deep red. Her face
reflects her age and her body is comfortable. She
may or may not wear makeup, according to the
moment.
Yet she walks
with the confident stride of a ballerina. She pairs
a lovely scarf about her shoulders with a bright smile and
a bubbly warm personality, and becomes instantly
beautiful.
i think i have a
lot to learn from her. Perhaps my desire to do so
will give me that elusive grace. And one day i too
will be able to laugh at myself.
PS:
i like the first quote today
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