Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

"No, don't pull me out," I heard that faint plea, "I'm the sign that you've learned some lessons (okay, maybe a few, but it still counts). Let me live, I promise I won't make a fuss." I gazed at that solitary, minuscule white hair in sheer horror. Over the next 30 minutes, the walls, my bookshelf, and my cherished little penguin plush named Pingu bore witness as I dedicated myself to oiling my hair and meticulously following my three-step skincare routine (which typically only involves washing my face—yes, I'm admittedly lazy).

Sitting with my thoughts, I pondered this situation. "No, you can't panic now," I told myself, trying to muster resolve. "Didn't you want to grow up?" An impish angel on my shoulder smirked, "No, stop, it's too soon." "Deal with it, you're growing up," I countered internally. After a series of these angelic debates in my head, a cascade of positive messages about aging finally dawned on me. Alright, maybe this isn't as bad as it seemed.

"It's just a hair," a friend reassured me, though it took two more rounds of Google searches to conclude that perhaps the "monster" known as grey hair had finally found me, or maybe it's just a vitamin B12 deficiency, or genetics. Either way, I recognized that I had overreacted,

While a passing thought whispered, "Am I losing the last bits of childhood?" the weight of center shifted, leaving me wondering, "Will I ever find another anchor?" But as always, we reflect and move forward—do we really have a choice? Maybe growing up won't be so bad after all. Someday, I'll be the one advising a joyful kid playing in the fields, eager to grow up. I'll tell them to cherish this time. That's the human way, isn't it? Our center of gravity is forever reaching for somewhere else, or at least that's what we wish.

One silver lining emerged from this incident: the introspection it prompted. The spiral triggered by one tiny hair made me reflect on the quirks of growing up—perhaps it's a package deal. Or is it? The internal dialogue continued. Maybe growing up is merely a superficial construct perpetuated by the capitalist market to keep things in motion. Our bodies undergo phases like the moon, and as long as we're above ground, it's a good day—just like Truman once said. Perhaps we can choose how to live each day, at least those of us privileged enough to do so.

For the moment, I've made peace with my solitary white hair. And when the next one makes its appearance, perhaps I'll find myself spiraling into another skincare frenzy. But one thing still nags at me: why do we humans tend to dwell in the past or fixate on the future, while the present continuously beckons for our attention by throwing curveball after curveball?