My mum's hair went completely white, like snowy, by the time she was about fifty, I think. It started to go pretty fast when she was in her forties. Mine took a little longer to get started, but it's going just as fast. I've been looking forward for years to having completely snowy white hair.
Salt n' pepper never did anyone any favours, so I generally cover it up with some henna/indigo stuff I get from Lush, but I don't dye it any more. They told me after I got my new post-chemo hair not to do any chemical treatment to it until it regained its normal texture, which took a little over a year. It's been back to normal (though it grew more slowly for a lot longer) for about the same amount of time, and now I just mostly can't be arsed to do any colouring.
But I'm still quite looking forward to the totally snowy white look. And when it goes there, I might just do something like in the pic above for a bit of a laugh. In fact, so much white is in there now, I'm thinking it might be fun to just go get it done on purpose. I hear that's a thing now.
I've never really been afraid of getting old because I grew up largely around much older people, and I've always preferred the company of older people. My grandma of course, was a huge influence, but also my mum had this friend, Joan Reid, a perfectly delightful human being, a real lady. She also had perfect, long, shiny snowy white hair which she always wore up and which I admired very much when I was a child.
The one thing I really dreaded regarding my appearance as I get older was the "poodle do". I always loathed that thing that ladies of a certain generation always did in getting a short haircut permed into this awful poodle look. Horrible!
I had very good role models as I was growing up, and I've always thought it is an awful burden to be young. Young people are dumb. No matter how much raw intelligence they might possess, they just don't know anything. And especially in our times, when they've abolished all the rules, it's even worse, since no one will tell you how you're supposed to live and what to do. You have to spend so much more time stumbling around the world trying to figure things out as you go along. I remember being young and it was awful, just awful! And with every year that I get older, the easier and better and happier my life gets.
One of the nicest conversations I had with Fr. Cassian at the Norcia monastery was just a wee chat on the steps of the church one morning after Mass. I said that it must be difficult being the oldest one in a monastery of quite young men (I think his sub-prior isn't even out of his thirties yet! and he's the most senior one). He said that while it was sometimes a bit difficult, he was just glad not to be so young himself any more. I agreed wholeheartedly and said, "Yes, being young was awful, wasn't it?" "Awful!" he agreed with feeling.
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