59/365: i am not my hair

it was a few years ago now that a man in france, i think he was a greek tourist, commented on my hair, comparing it to my dog's. we didn't understand each other well, or maybe not at all. but he said it with a big smile on his face, wasn't being unkind.

what? i thought to myself, my hair is white? like daisey's? but IT WAS! it was growing out white. after decades as a bottle-blond. 

it took years for all the blond to grow out long enough to be chopped off, leaving only gray. it was an uncomfortable, and not very pretty, process.

these days i hear frequent comments on my hair. strangers regularly stop me to offer compliments, recently at the airport. i have grown into my gray hair, and am no longer upset, at all, by people noticing it. it is what it is, and i try to take care of it. keep it healthy and hydrated. that's all. 

daisey goes to the groomer for haircuts much more often than i, and comes home with such closely cropped fur that she looks almost naked, like a large rat, not as cute as the furrier version. but she looks out of those innocent eyes with the same love and openness. i still look in her eyes and each time remember, she is just as she was before the hair cut. she is NOT her hair.

and i am not mine.