by Darnell L. Moore

I recently stopped by my supervisors office to wish him a good night. As I talked， he gazed intently upon my head until he finally 1）blurted，“Oh my God， is that a gray hair？”

And an extensive 2）mesmerizing gray 3）strand， it was. In fact， this particular histrionic gray 4）sprouted so high that it seemed to be 5）vying for everyones attention.

Before I had a chance to finish my weak and overly wrought explanation about the gray hair signifying wisdom， my boss pulled out a pair of scissors and asked permission to chop off the gray. I let him—despite my 6）sermonizing in defense of the old—and was made a bit younger， at least until the grays that 7）audaciously sprout out of the crown of my head returned.

近日，我经过主管办公室时，顺道进去和他道声晚安。就在我说话时，他聚精会神地盯着我的头，然后脱口而出：“天呐，那是白发吗？”

这是一大绺引人注目的白发。实际上，这一绺特别具有戏剧性的白头发还长得那么高，就像是在吸引所有人的注意一样。

我还没来得及说完那无力而夸张的解释——白头发象征着智慧——我的老板便拿出一把剪刀，问我是否可以将这绺白发剪掉。虽然我搬出套话为衰老辩护，但还是让他剪了，之后的我看起来年轻了少许，至少在那绺白发再次在头顶上肆无忌惮地长出来之前是如此。

On another occasion， I tried to pull out each gray strand in my beard one at a time. It was painful， literally and 8）figuratively. Pulling out ones hair strand by strand is a process that is not for the weak at heart—or 9）cuticle. It hurts.

To make it worse， I continued to pull but the gray strands， which seem to be tougher than the black strands that fall out with ease frequently， refused to loosen their attachment to my chin. I lost. Yet， I also was pained by the fact that I could not fully embrace my gray hairs and， therefore， my aging self. I was so resistant to looking like an “old man” that I was willing to 10）subject myself to the 11）stinging sensation of forceful hair removal to appear younger.

Over the past few years， I have really wanted to 12）hack my gray hairs one by one， but they are 13）unyielding. They refuse to be disappeared. Indeed， the most ambitious of the grays desire endless acknowledgment.

I have heartlessly pulled out one hair only to 14）contend with the five daring strands that return with 15）ferocity several weeks later in memory of the fallen. And I have finally resolved that I cannot win the fight against the relentless grays. Whenever I look in the mirror at my once fully-black beard， which is now 16）salt-and-pepper， I throw up my hands and clippers in defeat.

还有一次，我尝试一根一根地将白胡子拔掉。非常疼，身心如是。一绺一绺地把头发拔掉对于拥有软弱的心——或者是表皮的人来说，是不可行的，十分疼痛。

而且更糟的是，我继续拔掉一绺绺的白胡子，但是白胡子比那些经常脱落的黑胡子顽固很多，它们拒绝脱离我的下巴。我输了。但是，我还是为自己不能够完全接受白发——也就是变老——这个事实感到痛苦。我对看起来像“老人”这件事抗拒到竟然甘愿让自己遭受拔掉白发这种强烈的疼痛，以便让自己看起来显得年轻。

在过去的几年里，我真的很想一根一根拔掉我的白发，但是它们不屈不饶。它们不愿意就此消失。其实，野心勃勃的白发想要无穷无尽的认可。

我冷酷地拔出一根白发，只是为了和那几个星期之后来势汹汹的五绺大胆的白发做抗争，以此留个纪念。我最后明白自己不可能战胜这些冷酷无情的白发。我照镜子时，看见自己曾经的黑色胡子，现在已满是斑白，我就妥协地扬手扔开钳子了。

Like powerful divinities， grays remind us of our 17）impermanence. They are cues that we are getting “old，” which is a descriptor used by the young to signal that which is no longer 18）en 19）vogue. In other words， pack your bags and prepare for transcendence. Certainly， I thought the same when I was young and gray-less. So， now when the young read my beard as a sign of my ascension into the realm of the ancient， I am reminded of my own attraction to youthfulness and fear of the inevitable， namely， aging.

At 36， I now contend with the reality that I cannot beat mortalitys mark by using a simple hair colorant or clippers. It is a fight that I will not win even though I often feel pressured to defend against aging whenever I am reminded of its grip.

Both stories illuminate the tension that exists in my life. I am getting older and am learning to embrace that fact， but I am also aware of that which increasing age brings.

My skin is not as tight and smooth as it once was. I have bags under my eyes. I no longer feel current and hot in some night clubs. My once trim stomach that never required a 20）gazillion 21）crunches in order for others to see my 22）abs is now a grown mans gut. Birthday invitations now require a certain sense of humor when composing because they need to be convincing enough to encourage friends whove attended 15-20 parties in the past to show up， again， this time around. It is no longer awkward for me to purchase eye cream along with my vitamin enriched agedefying skin 23）moisturizer. And the grays（like age）， well， they will not be stopped. And thats the point.

像强大的神灵般，白发提示我们人并非长生不老。它们是我们变“老”的提示，是年轻人用来描述一切过时之物的标志。换句话说，打点行装准备超越吧。当然，我年轻又少白发的时候也是这么想的。所以，现在那些年轻人认为我的胡子是我“荣登”老年阶层的标志，我则想起了自己对于年轻的迷恋，对必然老去的恐惧。

我36岁，现在也明白了，通过一支简单的染色剂或者钳子是无法跟凡人衰老定律抗衡的。每当年老紧追不舍时，我也时常觉得有必要负隅顽抗，即便如此，这终究是一场我无法胜出的战斗。

两个事例就说明了存在于我生活中的焦虑。我正在渐渐变老，而且也不得不学会接受事实，但是我也意识到了随之而来的变化。

我的皮肤不如以前紧致和光滑了。我开始有眼袋了。在夜店不再觉得自如和激动了。以前我从来不需要做无数仰卧起坐来练就腹肌示人，而现在腹肌早变成中年男的肚子了。发出生日邀约时需要一定的幽默感，朋友们过去都参加过你的15到20次生日派对了，要他们今年再来，得花点心思。去买眼霜和富含维生素抗老化护肤液时，我不再感到尴尬了。那些白发（就像年纪），嗯，是无法阻止的。这就是问题关键。

Each of us， regardless of our numerical age， is aging daily. Whether we are 17， 37 or 77， we get older every day. We also move closer toward death. As unpleasant as it sounds， it is a truth that I am learning to embrace particularly within a western society that 24）proliferates the fiction of perpetual youthfulness over the reality of our mortality. We arent gods after all.

I have failed at ridding my beard of the gray whiskers. I officially raise the white flag of surrender.

I refuse to spend the rest of my days 25）waging war against the inevitable. I am getting older daily， and I am also alive to enjoy the process.

I can now proclaim proudly： the grays win. And so do we all when we give up our fight to remain forever young and grayless.

我们每个人，无论我们年龄多少，都在一天天变老。无论我们是17、37还是77岁，我们每天都在变老。我们也在渐渐靠近死亡。这和听起来的那样令人不快，这是我正慢慢学着去接受的事实，特别是在倡导永远青春而不愿认老的西方社会中，不老的观念被广泛转播。毕竟我们不是神。

我没有成功摆脱白胡子的困扰。我正式地举起了投降的白旗。

我拒绝把我的余生都花在和无可避免的自然规律抗争中。我每天都在变老，而且我享受着这个过程。

我现在骄傲地宣布：白发获胜。而当我们放弃永葆青春、永无白发的观念之时，我们也将同样获得胜利。