Yesterday I found a pink hair in my sink. No, I don’t play with Strawberry Shortcake dolls. I do dye my hair pink, though.

So what’s the big deal about finding a pink hair in my sink?

I couldn’t figure that out, either, at first. But for some reason, it thrilled me. It slowly dawned on me. It’s not a white hair because I dyed it pink. I did that. I caused a change in my life.

Over the course of the past year, I’ve come to the very difficult conclusion that I do not control the universe. Stuff I am not okay with will happen and I will most likely have to deal with it and I won’t be able to make a significant change in it. But then there’s other stuff that happens and if I don’t like it, I can change it.

Like white/silver/grey hair. No matter what you call it, if you don’t like it, you can change it. I looked at that pink hair and it thrilled me because I can’t change what the universe and other people will do to me, but I can change what I do to myself. I can curl up in a corner and cry because the universe SUCKS and is beating the crap out of me (sometimes), or I can come out swinging. And that’s what that pink hair represents.

I can’t change the universe, but I can change the color of my hair. Look out, universe.