I cannot deny that one day I will wake up and realize that my hair has completely changed from black to grey.
Then, I will remember the days I started noticing the grey, slowly. I will remember that I told myself not to worry about it and that I would be better off leaving it alone, away from hair coloring.
(To dye my hair on a regular basis to hide one of the signs of aging could be problematic as well.)
I will remember the choice I made to accept the grey hair instead of opting for black hair, with bald patches.
I will remember that when I only had a few grey strands, I was already wise about life. At the time and age when I could still wear high heels every day, I was able to identify what was important and what was irrelevant.
I will remember that I already learned that in the bigger scheme of things, it was not worth sweating the small stuff.
(Looking at the big picture, I could see what I should overlook as much as I could pinpoint what could use my time and energy.)
I will remember that I could have lost it, unnecessarily, but I slept on it, and I woke up feeling brand new, just like the day.
But, before one day arrives, I have many new days. Who cares that each new day may bring a situation that stimulates the growth of grey.