Becoming friends with aging.
Yes. Accepting it for what it is.
Embracing history as a prize.
Announcing 51 and not thinking ahead, nor behind.
Holding the sag, the wrinkles, the extra weight, the thing called menopause as an achievement.
Letting beauty be where beauty is.
But when I saw two, not just one, but two white hairs growing long and proud in my eyebrow I stared them down… held the tweezer up aiming for attack, then realizing that those two white hairs matched my fake blond hair better than the other dark black eyebrows that I have.
I put the tweezers down.
Aging. Becoming. I am.
Changing and accepting, sometimes one without the other.
It is okay, and it is okay that I am fake blond, wearing Mary Jane's.
I never noticed the color of someone's eyebrows before mine started to turn to white.
Maybe I'll be Frosty for Christmas.
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