What My Sister-In-Law Has Taught Me About Beauty

She said something striking, as we sat in our slumber party form, girl talk in the air and opened lingerie boxes scattered about, "I decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to change my body. He knows  me and what I look like, why would I change who I am just for my wedding day?" My sister-in-law, three weeks away from saying "I do" to her best friend, spoke it loud and clear, right there at her Bachelorette party: Why would anyone change who they are, wedding day or whatever the occasion, just to appease the crowd? What's even the point? And why do we, as women, and maybe especially more so as bride's to be, try to change ourselves?

I'm Telling You About It

Sometimes I wish that blogging could be more tangible. That you could meet the people I meet, and know the people I know. And that I could meet you, if I haven't already. Or that we could talk over coffee on these linkup days, and open up about what it truly means to love oneself, choose true beauty, in an even more vulnerable and intimate setting. Sometimes, writing in such an open and uncovered way is a heavier weight to lift than just talking one on one, in confidence, in the safety of a coffee shop. 

While in California this past weekend, I met up at the beach with my friend Kara. When we were talking about writing and blogging, she asked me "Is it hard to be that open and vulnerable?" And I think in the moment my pride got to me, and I told her that, "No, it isn't as difficult as I thought it would be." If I could go back, and rephrase, I know I would add something. Something big that I missed. That, yes, it is one of the hardest things to do. In fact, I feel like I don't even get to the most covered parts of my heart and share them. That I still save those covered matters for the safety of a coffee shop, the safety of one person listening, and the safety of words being spoken rather than typed and frozen on a screen for all to see. I would actually tell Kara, that, "Yes, it is hard to be vulnerable. But it is worth it."

Why so serious?

 Raise your hand if you can say this is true about you: I take myself too seriously. 

Perhaps my hand is the only one raised, but I completely fall guilty of taking myself way too seriously at times. And while being serious and being my harshest critic can be helpful in areas like hard-work, focus, and drive, it can also monumentally hurt that area of true beauty that comes out in the form of laughter, being goofy, and extending myself grace. More than anything, being married to a someone who once proclaimed as a child that he wanted to be a comedian, has clearly pointed at the fact that I do not laugh at myself enough. That I can take life too seriously. Why is this? While the pensive, reflective, perfectionist that I am is thankful for this trait in part, there has always been a side of me that wants to nurture the silly a bit more, and choose to take myself less seriously--especially in adulthood. I think it goes hand in hand with intentionally choosing beauty--intentionally choosing to let go of the "put together" facade and just bask in being ridiculous when ridiculous calls. I know it may sound strange, but I think "gracefully goofy" is something so charming. You goofballs out there, you not taking yourself so seriously--you are gorgeous in doing so (and I admire you)! I know I need to allow that beautifully silly part of me out more than I do. I feel most beautiful when I can laugh at myself and let that serious part go. What about you, will you laugh at yourself a little more this week?

Phenomenally | Choose Beauty

These words by Maya Angelou resound true beauty. They resound confidence. They are words spoken from a woman who chose to love herself, know herself, and celebrate it. I am reminded today of those things that make me a woman. A woman, not just familiar or ordinary, but a woman, phenomenally so.

At the Intersection

We were standing at the corner of the intersection, me balancing on my seven speed townie while he stood adjusting his baseball cap and gripping the handle bar of his road bike. The sun glistened, my eyes slivers as they squinted to see if the signal was telling us to cross. I reached up and touched my still damp hair from an afternoon swim, which was twisted up into an uneven top knot. I realized I must look a bit disheveled, knowing I hadn't ever looked in the mirror that day to conceal blemishes or add a hint of blush. Glancing over, he was still there, adjusting his hat and bike wheels slightly rolling. Even his sunglasses couldn't hide the brightness of the sun, and I could see my reflection staring back at me as soon as he looked my way.

Me: "I'm sorry I look a mess"

Him: "What do you mean?"

Me: "I haven't put any make-up on and haven't touched my hair since my swim. I'm sure I look less than pretty."

Him: "I didn't even notice you had no make-up on. I never really notice."

Me: "What..."

Him: "You are pretty with or without. You're the same."

Up until that moment at the intersection, bikes and a picnic dinner were our sole mission. Whizzing through neighborhoods, sun beaming down, lies about my appearance hadn't been let in. I had forgotten about my disheveled top knot, lack of beauty products, and uncoordinated outfit. And it felt good. In those moments leading up to my apology at the intersection, adventure was winning, true beauty had the upper hand, and lies were not seeping in. But the moment I saw my reflection, the moment I was reminded that I may not look so put together, adventure stopped winning and a lie got the best of me. A lie that caused a gut reaction to apologize to my husband--apologize for not looking pretty because I hadn't washed my face or put on make-up. A lie that told me, because I didn't hide a blemish or rouge my cheeks, that I was a mess.

And what a lie this lie was. 

Beauty the Action

Someone once told me "The best part of beauty is that which no photograph can express."

Beauty, and its best parts, are an action. Beauty is an outpouring of the within. Though our world likes to tell us otherwise, with style and grace being solely about the exterior--style and grace can only be beautiful if the inner linings match. I recently wrote and asked "what squeezes out of your life?" In the very same respect, the things that one lives passionately about, would do anything for, and over else are consumed by (all things that squeeze out of one's life)--they all have so much sway on beauty. 

Beauty is an action. True beauty shows up in unexpected places, as kindness, service, gratitude, joy, selflessness, love, and humility. It shows up in forgotten places, like among 20 homeless woman staying at an overnight shelter, laughing and caring for each other because they are thankful they have enough. It shows up on camping trips where make-up and hairstyles are long forgotten, and a small tent and fire become luxuries, while we sit and share parts of ourselves under the expansive sky. Beauty shows up in the workplace when two coworkers take a break from the work work work mentality to get to know the heart of their colleague. It shows up when we least expect it to. Beauty, and its best parts, cannot be primped and prepped for. It cannot be applied through concealer, a curling wand, and that perfect little black dress. Although these things may bring on some style and grace, this is not what defines beauty. It is the action that comes from within that makes the beautiful show up.

For the Choose Beauty Linkup, started over at Thoughts by Natalie, I want to set the stage for what I will be writing about. A stage where beauty, at its finest, cannot be expressed by a visual. A stage where beauty is a way life is lived, and a way that other's experience it. Something that a photograph cannot express, but hopefully words can describe.