Defining “Beautiful”

I have been formulating my feelings about true beauty for probably the whole of my lifetime. As a woman, I think we are conscious of perceived beauty from the time our loved ones dress us in frilly dresses and hair bows. The interesting thing is that as each of us ages and becomes exposed to more and more, our views shift and change.

But one constant remains: we are mesmerized by beauty and scrutinize ourselves based on our ideals.

As a midwestern girl growing up, I was awed by the beauty of foreign things that were different than the people, places, and things around me. Foreign exchange students made me swoon, photos of faraway places held my interest, far-flung fashions and thick accents made my heart beat fast. I saw beauty in the super skinny, in the rich, in the unattainable. I was young and immature.

And with a narrow focus.

As my world opened up and I left the nest bound for the South, my beauty ideal changed. Itty-bitty fake blondes with fake tans and fake boobs made me feel like a redwood tree and an ugly duckling. I knew I couldn’t be like them, but as I pounded nightly on the treadmill at the gym, I’d watching them wistfully, always feeling inferior. Okay: truth time, I felt like crap about myself.

Then I saw a different kind of beauty when I moved even further south. In South America, the dark hair and dark features were the norm and I entered a world where long hair reins supreme and natural beauty is considered secondary to those that put in long hours in front of the mirror or under the knife. I guess no matter the outcome, the effort counts for something? Who knows. This had taken the ‘blonde in a bottle’ fake-ness to a new level. I entered a world of cosmetic surgery as the norm and beauty with an outrageous price tag.

Of course, I didn’t fit in there either. Still a redwood tree by comparison, I was also naturally paler, taller, thicker, and unwilling to alter my appearance with a knife, tattoo, or daily polish change.

I think it was while living in Venezuela that I started to shape my current beauty beliefs. It was during that time that I started to understand more wholly that yes, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” but the reflection in the mirror is most often the ‘beholder’ we are most worried about.

…

It has been close to ten years since I moved back from Venezuela- and that feeling I had there of not feeling pretty, feeling like Shrek in a world of Cinderellas, still haunts me.

It is only now that I am starting to see myself individually and not compared with the itty-bitty blondes or the raven-haired exotic Miss Universes. I know the I have cellulite and gray hair. Varicose veins and pesky gray hairs growing into my eyebrows. My hair is noticeably thinner than it was 5 years ago and standing up straight gives way easily to slouching, thereby making me look like a slug. I have flabby bat wings (girls, you know what I mean) and back fat. Yep. I do.

But I know this. I hate it, but it’s me. I starved myself down to a size 2 way back when and you know what? I think I was so mean during that time because I was hungry! It’s not worth it. I much prefer being a size 10, happy Me, than a raving size 2 lunatic.

And that, I guess after all is said and done, is the root of all of this. I realized that the beauty comes from within. It is an unachievable goal to alter and change your appearance if you’re not being ‘you’. If you’re chasing after an ideal that you cannot attain, you won’t be happy, and therefore you can’t and wont, radiate the beauty that is within.

I am not saying that we all shouldn’t strive to be healthy and with a put-together, attractive appearance. It makes you feel better about everything if you make the effort to look your best.  Make the effort to be the best ‘you’ that you can be, but you don’t have to be supermodel skinny or rich or exotic or blonde or wearing the latest fashions to be beautiful. Just smile and be happy being you and you will radiate your happiness to others and be beautiful in their eyes.

And hopefully your own!