So, it seems I’m adjusting to The Life of Grey quite nicely so far. I’ve told a few people–most of whom hunt-and-peck like bad typists to try and find the silver strands (four of them, which I’m told does NOT a patch make) within my reddish, blondish, brownish whatnot–and they’ve all said something along the lines of, “You’ve arrived, ” “You earned them all,” or “No one will ever notice but you,” to me. All true.
And then, when my friend who lost her hair during chemo while I watched (in addition to my new friend who also lost her hair during chemo and got it all back since then, in time for me to meet her) shows me how much she loves the grey she had “before the hair fell out” because it means she got her hair back… including that grey… I realize I’ve got nothing but stupid vanity issues going on. And, my goodness, if a casting director/writer needs to worry about things like wrinkles, grey hairs, and an extra few pounds… we’re REALLY living in some parallel Hollywood universe.
I gave up visual-status ego crap when I stopped acting for a living. Or so I thought.