When I turned 30-years-old every birthday became less of a ritual and more of a period of self reflection and an opportunity for me to create all sorts of wish lists.
1. Find the perfect man to marry and have kids.
2. Find the perfect home preferably near the water in a beach house.
3. Win the lottery and forget about points 1 & 2.
But, as the years quickly passed and I got closer to turning 40, I realized that points 1,2, and 3 might not become a reality. Therefore, the only thing I had to look forward to was the art of ageing gracefully. Until suddenly, grace was interrupted when out of nowhere stood a grey hair. The long, black hair that I had grown accustomed to would be forever tainted by this monstrous beast. No wig, no weave, no nothing would be able to hide it and now my life was completely over. I would be invaded by a single, silver strand who became known to me as "the intruder." Much like the aunt or uncle who showed up drunk on Christmas or the dreaded coworker I least expected to show up to the corporate dinner. They just didn't belong there! And just like these annoying people in our lives so was my grey hair. Yet eventually, I had to come to terms with the fact that this was something that came along with the ageing process and I would need to embrace it. However, I wanted no parts of it! Having grey hair meant that I would be treated differently when I went to the mall or shopped for groceries. Men and women would now refer to me as "Mame" instead of Ms. Roy. No longer would I be able to enjoy passing for the girl in her twenties, I was getting old and this was going to take some getting use to. I could no longer wear the short skirts and tiny t-shirts anymore without being ridiculed by the packs of women wolves at nightclubs. Now, I was a fully grown woman who had to give up all of those things and accept whatever life had to offer. I was entering into a new beginning, my dew season and life was about to become pretty darn special.