I got my first gray hair at 16.

It wasn't entirely unexpected. My dad — who also went prematurely gray — had dyed his hair since I was a child.

Even so, it made me nervous to find that silvery strand, seeing decades' worth of hair dye in my future, stretching out in expensive hair salon appointments as far as the eye could see.

I decided, at first, to treat it as fun. I dyed my hair shades of red, brown, black and blond. Sometimes I'd have highlights, other times none. The experimentation was a game, and for most of my teens and 20s, I enjoyed it.

I never minded if someone found out I had gray hairs because I knew, and I knew they knew, too, that no matter how many gray hairs I had, I was young. Plus, I was dying my hair, so no one knew unless I told them.

"Why don't you let it grow out?" my husband asked when we first started dating. "It might look cool."

I laughed, certain that he didn't want to date a woman who looked 20 years older than she was any more than I wanted to be one.

As I got older, though, things changed.

It wasn't quite so funny to know that, left unmolested, my hair would make me look older than I was. Eventually, I hit the age where my contemporaries started going gray, too, and the advanced stage of my gray hair made me feel less unique and more frumpy.

Dying my hair became more of a chore, too.

Even a couple of weeks after an appointment at a hair salon, I can see grays peeking through at the hairline. Within a month or two, the full state of things is clear.

I've started thinking more about my dad, who at 70 years old still dyes his hair jet-black, covering his white moustache hairs as well. He used to dye the hair on his arms and chest, even, and I remember him sitting in the dye, waiting for it to set, and wondering why he bothered.

"Don't you'd think you look better with gray hair?" I asked him once.

"No," he said. "I think I'd look old."

Now that I'm firmly in middle age, I understand the fear, the worry that keeps you trying to stop youth's retreat.

It's not that you won't look beautiful. It's that you won't look beautiful in the same way. And the way you used to look beautiful — the unlined, un-old, un-gray way — is the way that's desirable, that's sexy.

With advancing age comes a degree of invisibility, and for those who have spent so many years being seen, it can be like a drug. It can be tough to kick.

I was never a model, never the most stunning woman in the room, but when you're young, you're beautiful, whether you know it or not. Sometimes you find the beauty in a way that others recognize, wearing the "right" clothes and makeup, doing your hair the "right" way. Especially for women, it can require an extraordinary amount of effort.

At some point, though, everyone must decide whether to keep up the fight. How long and how hard do we want to struggle against the invincible foe?

I've been looking at my hair recently and considering surrender.

Would it be so horrible to look old? Would it be OK — maybe even good — to see if there's beauty to be found over the hill?

I have an appointment with my hair stylist coming up, and I'm planning what to say.

In the past, it's been all about hiding. Covering up.

This time, I'd like to figure out a way to be beautiful, only with the gray hair.

To learn more about Georgia Garvey, visit GeorgiaGarvey.com.

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