Forty Shades of Gray

This could be the title for my bestselling novel about my hair color. 

It's true. I started going gray at the early age of 20. Since that time, I've become skilled at the art of mixing ammonia-based solutions with pigment-based solutions to create the perfect concoction that preserves my reddish-brown locks. 

Beauty products tell us to refuse to grow old gracefully, because "we're worth it." Hundreds of thousands of dollars in products touting age-defying results are sold in the U.S. every year: products to help us shed pounds, fight wrinkles, cover grays, tighten skin and maintain erections. 

But growing old is part of life. 

Still, I bristled with 40. 

Having two adolescent girls didn't help. I started the "Couch to 5 K" program with gusto this summer. But gravity isn't kind, and despite my sports bra, I cupped my breasts to prevent them from bouncing while jogging alongside my eight year old one afternoon, who was riding her bike. She looked at me in horror, the look of astonishment showing clearly in her wide eyes. 

"What are you doing?" she gasped. 

We resist growing old, and in a society that frowns upon wrinkles, saggy skin and gray hairs, can you blame us? We are led to believe that growing old somehow means an end to careless days, spontaneity and, well, let's face it, life. "Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death."

I had to admit after some deep introspection one day that what I feared about growing older and turning 40 was that I wasn't nearly where I thought I'd be at this ripe-old age. What was what 40  supposed to look like?

Like so many others, I saw my career flushed down the toilet in 2008 with a lay off after climbing a proverbial corporate ladder for eight years at a major healthcare system. This left me depressed, defeated, and grasping to put my life back together - to understand the meaning of it all. 

One day, after griping about my upcoming birthday on Facebook, my friend wrote the following note to me:

     "Oh, my Libra friend. Here is my little secret to making turning 40 a fun experience, rather than      'the end of the world'. I made a list of 40 things I wanted to do for my 40th year. Some big (spend a winter in Alaska), some little (finally organize my photos into albums). Some were just for me (take a creative writing class), and some were to conquer fears (get a tattoo). I spent my 40th year crossing these things off my list and learned a LOT about the person I am and the person I want to be. Since you are in a place of change right now, it might be a good thing to do. And I think you should put "run dogs with TC in Alaska" on your list."

Alas, this blog was born.  Thanks, T.C. 

Over the next few days, I'm going to begin the daunting task of compiling my "bucket list." I'm struggling with this too. How does a girl whose been to almost all of our 50 states, who has (among other wild things) on her resume "Camel Handler", "Dog Musher", "College Professor" and "Zookeeper" begin to compile such a list? It's a daunting task. Perhaps number one on my bucket list will be "Create a bucket list." 

Regardless, I will document the journey here.