A familiar hairdresser notices years through small changes most conversations never name.

Some people keep a record of you that nobody discusses. A hairdresser sees the grey arriving, the thinning, the months when you stopped bothering, the haircut after the bad year, and holds all of it without comment because commenting is not the arrangement. It is an oddly intimate kind of witness: close, regular, and deliberately silent. Being seen without being discussed is more comfortable than most people expect.

Think about who else keeps that sort of record of you, and be gentle with the ones who keep it for others. A word of thanks to someone who has watched you change for ten years is rarely wasted.