The gray in his hair bothered him considerably. He was much too young for the distinguished professor look. But he refrained from dying it. The wisps of white were a reminder of his mortality. Goals needed to be accomplished, or at the very least, established.
But this was not a man of action. He was more the type to examine the reason for each gray hair. This one was when she broke his heart. That one was when the police pulled him over and asked if he was drinking. This one was when his rent was late and the landlady changed his locks.
So many mistakes. So few successes.
He remembered when he was twenty five. He had bedded a woman slightly older. They spoke of things that lovers speak of. Their lives and thoughts and angst. Even then he was frustrated with his aimlessness.
She stopped his self-pity and renewed his vigor with nine simple words. “Some of the best people I know are lazy.”
They kissed. He kept his eyes open and noticed white in her hair. They loved and then they lost touch. But as he contemplated that night he rethought his white hairs. Perhaps they were not caused by stress. Perhaps each one represented a lesson learned.