Beauty

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

When I was visiting my mom, someone asked me if I considered myself to be beautiful.

I babbled something about two eyes and a nose, then got a hold of myself and told them that, “Beauty being in the eye of the beholder, is subjective. I know for a fact that in some eyes I’m seen as beautiful, in other eyes, not so much.”

Eventually, I assured them that in my eyes, yes I was beautiful.

But still, the question itself had me squirming in my seat, hot faced and yes, shameful. Shameful for considering my own beauty, for recognizing it or acknowledging it out loud. Didn’t they know? That question is dangerous!

During my visit back home I spoke to Pickle about jealousy and feel much of our conversation on that subject is appropriate to reflect back on now, now that the subject of appearance has raised it self from my deepest submerged consciousness.

I tried to believe what she told me then, and even before then, about the source of much of my teenage angst being the result of petty jealousies among the girls in my community.

I always had a hard time believing that, as much as I felt it would’ve been so cozy and nice to be able to say, yes, the other girls were mean to me because I was pretty! it was impossible for me to believe such things as I was convinced I was ugly.

I was ugly, and poor and dressed in Woolworth and Kmart hand me downs. I guess maybe these jealous girls were offended by my fashion sense? I mean I was creative with my cast off and bargain bin treasures.

My collection of $1.20 jelly shoes, and five dollar China Flats were downright dangerous , they alone could’ve incited a riot of envious teenage passions!

I’ve come a long way since then, as far as understanding goes. I understand now, that I wasn’t ugly at all I just had a serious self esteem problem. Had I stood up to those girls from the get go and let them know I wasn’t down with their crap I probably would’ve been better served in the end, and probably, so would’ve they.

As it was I became obsessed with finding out why they hated me, I knew they couldn’t possibly be jealous of disgusting little old me, right? What did I do to deserve this? Why’s everybody so mean to me… Y’all must know someone who sounds like that! I don’t think the problem is all that uncommon.

And well, I guess girls will be girls.

Riddled with obsessive fears about how others view them. Confronted with myriads of images minute by minute of perfectly airbrushed and otherwise altered images of impossible feminine beauty and desirability.

Finding safety in packs.

I do remember a co worker from my teenage years confiding in me that when she first saw me walk in, (to the restaurant) she decided right then and there I was a bitch and that she hated me. I was horrified, and intrigued. I leaned in asking her the almighty question, the one I was forever hounding from people who mainly stared at the floor and mumbled their responses if ever choosing to answer it at all.

I wanted to know “Why?” She matter of factly told me that it was because I was beautiful. She said she felt that all beautiful girls were bitches, so therefore I had to be one too. She apologized.

The odd thing was, I thought this girl was beautiful. I wanted to know if that was why she was such a bitch? We laughed, and ordered a round of shooters. It was my birthday.

So maybe Pickle was right all along? And in a way, so was I.

Maybe I was targeted by the other girls for an extra helping of gossip and hallway whispers because they were jealous, as Pickle always maintained. But these girls themselves were each and every one of them beautiful in their own special and in many cases blatantly obvious ways. They had no real reasons to be jealous of me, compared to me, many of them had everything. Their envy was more a commentary on the way they view themselves, power and purposefulness.

I hope they’ve all grown into lovely women happy with who they are, and where they are going, cuz as much as it sucks being the target of someone’s jealousy, being jealous must be a worse curse to live under.

Looking back, I think I’d rather learn this lesson from my vantage than from theirs, so yes, maybe it was all worth it after all.

Maybe.