Which Came First — The Chicken, or the Beauty?
I envy women who don’t need to wear makeup.
I know… no woman needs to wear makeup.
If that was your immediate response, then you’re either: a) One of those women who doesn’t need to wear makeup, b) A feminist male.
The women I’m talking about are sometimes those with smooth, luminescent skin. Big doe eyes that don’t need added enhancement. Bone structure. Defined eyebrows. Long lashes.
The list goes on.
There isn’t any one particular physical feature that defines a pre-airbrushed woman — she just is.
Sometimes it might be something inside: A predisposed confidence and ease with her appearance resulting from true physical beauty, lack of judgmental figures in her life, or never comparing herself to models in magazines.
Her outward beauty could be a direct reflection of that found within.
What’s more, she has emotionally accepted the fact that she’s going to age, and she does it with grace and style.
For her, laugh lines are transformed into endearing accessories. Like earrings.
Unruly streaks of gray hair morph into a sophisticated highlight she never has to pay for.
Sporadic battle scars, moles, and birthmarks become trademarked, unique elements of mystique.
It’s hard to decipher which came first: Is her apparent beauty an inner peace derived from knowing she’s physically beautiful, or is it, even more poetically, a physical symptom of her beautiful soul?
If it’s the latter, maybe we all have a shot.
Whatever it is, I envy them.
And, ironically, that envy separates me even further as the woman I am from the woman I strive to become.
I think, from now on, I might start being a little nicer to myself. Less critical. Not for the sake of vanity, but in the name of compassion. Because I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that’s where it all starts.
What do you think?