Lessons in Loss and Grace from the Hair Salon

Originally published in Crow's Feet: Life As We Age on Medium.

Sometimes the most powerful lessons come from the chair next to you

Years ago, after paying too much money at a fancy hair salon for what I considered an underwhelming result, I asked a friend for a recommendation. She happily referred me to her go-to lady who served her entire family’s well coifed, full-bodied needs. I decided if Peg was good enough for her family, she was good enough for mine too.

By the end of my first visit, it seemed as if Peg was an old family friend. On the days I felt my energy waning, I could count on Peg to freely share the funny stories of her day and sometimes, what I would consider, serious misfortunes of her life. She took these events seriously, but also brushed them off with a raspy laugh and wave of her hand.

Conversations at a hair salon can be rich and scandalous. It’s a place where strangers’ lives unfold like a soap opera as you learn about love, family drama, stolen pets, run-ins with the law and tragedy over the span of a two-hour visit.

But one day felt different. While my hair was processing, Peg tended to another client — a petite, older lady who radiated an elegant energy, the kind of woman who never needed to raise her voice to be heard. I learned she was active in her community and enjoyed a vibrant family life. In a warm yet matter-of-fact manner she shared with me that her husband had passed almost a decade earlier and that they’d experienced over 50 years together. She smiled, and you could see the satisfaction and contentment with her life. I let her words sink in.

Little did she know the impact her words and presence had on me that day. I needed to hear her message. I was in the midst of my own crisis; my husband had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and I was doing my best to do it all — with lots of personal judgment sprinkled on top. Even now, the thought of that time brings a heaviness to my chest.

The words of this gentle giant carried a powerful punch. Her presence was a testament to the possibility of joy in life after loss and what 80-something can look like. 

It made me wonder: how often do we inspire others in quiet, mysterious ways? And, do we allow ourselves to be fully present for the small moments of wisdom around us?

It’s been at least two years since our conversation at the salon. A lot has happened since then, but my memory of how it felt to be in the same space as my sweet friend hasn’t faded. She still inspires me. Our brief exchange reminded me that perspective is a choice, and so much of how we age is shaped by the choices we make each day. And in the end, we don’t need to have it all figured out to be a light for someone else. Just being ourselves, fully and honestly, is often enough.