This past year, 2013, was my year to embark on a few personal, physical changes. I made some really effective changes to my diet, adding in more fresh vegetables and taking out processed foods, which was just the push I needed to finally get to my weight loss goal of 40 pounds. I don't have any pictures of the difference between the old me and the new me. It's not that noticeable. I hope the next 40 pounds will be a lot more noticeable (but that doesn't mean I'll take lots of pictures of that process either). I intend to keep going.
One big physical change that I made this year was letting my white hair grow out. I stopped coloring it right at the beginning of the year, in January, when I looked like this.
Now, it's December, the blonde has grown out and been mostly cut off, and I look like this.
I'm trying to remember what the impetus was, to make me want to grow my hair long and go back to its natural color. I told everyone I was "embracing my age." I remember about this time last year seeing lots of photos of actresses and models with beautiful, luxurious, white or gray hair. With my hair short and blonde, I do look younger, but I also thought I looked kind of generic. I wanted to stand out. I wanted to be that funky old lady with the long white hair and a sense of style. But I seem to have turned out to be just the comfortable old Grandma who gives nice hugs. I'm too lazy to be stylish.
I wore my hair quite a bit longer when I was young, down to the middle of my back. Here's a crappy photo from early spring 2005. The roots had gone white very quickly the year before, giving my hair a strange ombre effect.
I took that photo just before I had it cut shorter and started coloring it. I remember it being a lot thicker than it looks here.
Here's how it looked back in 2005 right after I had it cut.
And then about a month later, the first time I colored it.
Looking at these photos, I can see that my hair over the last 9 years has definitely gotten thinner. It's not obvious from that recent photo of me above with white hair, but nowadays I can see my ugly pink scalp through my hair.
So, with the approach of the new year, I'm on the cusp of a decision: Will 2014 be the year I go back to cutting and coloring my hair? Or do I stick it out and see what it looks like really long? I'm inclined to go back to cutting and coloring, and forget about all this "embracing my age" stuff. I don't think I want to go "gentle into that good night." Maybe I should kick up a bit of a fuss.
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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
By Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.