I remember when I was in my teens I couldn’t wait to be an adult – twenty one years old walking into a liquor store taking my time to pick the right beer or pint of hard stuff.
Those years came and went too fast. I’m getting really close to fifty and can’t say I like it. I know there’s nothing I can do to stop it and I’ll never try.
Some deny it. Other’s disguise it. Some spend lot’s of money trying to camouflage it with skin products. Then there are the ones that pay to go under the knife only to heal looking like everyone else that went under a knife.
Not for me. I’ll never try to beat the inevitable. We all age and we all die. What really matters is how we live and I’m not one to let the number of years I’ve been alive govern how I exist.
A few days ago a coworker mentioned my bald spot. I knew it was there but never really paid attention to how big it is. I never cared. But this time, when getting ready for work I took a quick look in the mirror and to my surprise it’s bigger than I imagined. I’m lucky though. Lucky because I know there are men out there that would freak out and have some sort of episode or serious loss of self esteem. It didn’t phase me. I saw it thought “holy shit” then went about my day. I told my girlfriend and her only words were “who gives a fuck.” She cracks me up sometimes. She thought I was tripping, thought I was worried about going bald.
If you’re balding, so what, people worthy of your company won’t care. It’s just hair.