When I imagine who I am in the most abstract of ways, this is who I see…
A free-spirited gypsy who loves the life that loves her back. I feel like her when I dance, free. But on any given normal day, I may possess one or two of the qualities she exudes, but for the most part she’s very much my dream version of me. There’s an invisible wall that stands between us: my feelings on my beauty. Particularly my own.
It wasn’t always like that. As a young girl, my former neighbor tells me, I categorically knew that I was pretty. The story is recounted here: Inner Child.
I’ve written other posts on the very subject: My Mother My Mirror, and Priceless to name a few. In fact, do a search and you’ll learn that in one form or another, the superficial is a recurring theme of my blog.
I want to be done with it, but first I have to share the thoughts on the subject that have been occupying my mind as of late. I have much to say on the subject of women, beauty and the lies we tell ourselves about self-acceptance, and I will do that soon, when they’re sorted out and make a bit more sense.
In the meantime, watch this video. It’s the perfect prelude, almost as if she read my mind…almost.