Rumpletstiltskin turned straw into gold, which is how I felt when I first went blond.  I’d been blond as a child, but it grew dark over the years and I decided to lighten it up.  I experimented with lengths & colors (sometimes failing, as in the case when it turned sort of orange).

I remember the first person I gave permission to cut it short*.   I don’t remember her name, but she did hair for the film industry and worked out of her home, a converted church in the East Village.  We took this photo because it felt monumental at the time.  [See the pile of hair at her feet – it wasn’t quite that dark.]

I continued to color my hair, expressing myself through different hues, highlights & fantasy colors.  My sense of self had been wrapped in my long curls for so long, this new approach was liberating.

Eventually, I let it grow again and kept it long; it was some time before I chose to “go short” again.  I found a soul-stylist, who spoke my language in every way, earning a hair trust I realized I’d never really known.  I always leave his chair feeling grounded and inspired and with an awesome haircut.
I used to think alchemy was about turning base metals into gold, a metaphor that slipped easily into what had become my blond identity (though I always saw my brunette hair in my mind’s eye).  This ancient transformational practice, however was about turning base metals into precious metals, so it included silver.

In anticipation of turning 50, I have decided to return my gold waves for the silver that lies beneath; both precious in their value on my journey, this choice has been long in the making. I have had a wonderful relationship to my yellow curls, but feel it’s time to see who I am underneath it all.

Every year gets better and better, even with the challenges that come with aging. I love being my age.  I heard myself say that to friend and then follow it with, “but I don’t like looking my age.”  That was the hinge moment that opened this door.  It’s possible that I will find something of my power on the other side, or this might be just another chance to play with impermanence.

And, if I hate it, I can always trade silver for a sunset.  

* I did a hair show in NYC when I was 18 when my hair was who I thought I was; the stylist who chose me was known to work with long hair, but decided I was going to get chopped, really chopped. (They put hair extensions in my hair for the second show, which I tore out while riding home on the subway, crying, but that’s another story.  I imagine it was a sight to see 😉  I did not choose that cut. (It’s actually a very funny story, now, but too long to tell in this post.)