I’ve recently been thinking of what Beauty means; real beauty. Not the kind we’re told to accept as absolute, or the kind we spend millions of dollars or pounds or rubles to try to achieve every year.  I have no great revelations on what beauty is, and I have no great catchphrases fit for market to the blogosphere.  What I have to say about beauty has been said a million times, by better wordsmiths than me.  

Beauty, for me, is truth.  It is health, and strength.  It is courage.  It is the ability to emote completely, selflessly.  Beauty as a state of being, beauty appears in children who are too young or protected to become self-conscious and hide that light behind fear. Why is it that a child in the midst of laughter is the most beautiful sight in the world? Because that child is demonstrating absolute, unequivocal joy. I also find a person in the depths of despair to be beautiful, because that demonstration of emotion is pure as well.  When I think of the people and the things that are beautiful to me, it is those things that draw out a deep, empathetic and emotive response.  Marina and Ulay.  My child with autism and his completely open-hearted laughter.  My father’s tears at my mother’s funeral.  Myself, in the mirror, acknowledging all of my flaws. That’s beauty, because it is real.

None of these are the codified definitions of our modern society.  Language defines what beauty means to us, culturally, and the message is not controlled by the individual any longer.  I’ve found it is easier to look at beauty when I look away from what is advertised as beauty.  I look away from the ads and I see beauty everywhere. 

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