More than 30 years. Isn’t 15 about the time we start looking around? Measuring. Comparing. Wondering why mine isn’t as great as hers. Watching magazines, TV and now online for that perfection of beauty.
“Ease up, Sweet Girl,” I would tell that driven, imperfect, insecure girl. “I found the secret.”
More like stumbled upon it. Because, to be honest, I didn’t head to my 30th college reunion thinking I needed to check out women’s bodies.
After all, aren’t these reunions another exercise in measuring, comparing, feeling less than?
And, yet. There they were. Everywhere I turned was another example. True beauty.
Crinkles around eyes that have laughed.
Creases around mouths that have bellowed sobs of unexpected sadness.
Arms that have held babies and carried growing children.
Arms that have done the impossible: let go when it comes time to let our children have their own lives.
Backs that have a crick from sitting in a chair for endless hours by the side of a parent having chemo.
New breasts replacing ones that once hosted cancer.
Streaks of gray earned making the world a better place.
Laps that have held beloved pets during their last days, thanking them with bottomless gratitude for the joy they brought to your life.
Middles that are larger and softer than any sorority girl ever hoped for.
Each encounter was too short.
Yet, long enough for a hug. A gaze. A chance to marvel at bodies, strong like a tree trunk still standing despite life’s storms.
And you know you don’t get to early 50s without a life storm. Or six.
This is not to suggest that the women of my class are running around in burlap sacks with hair every which direction.
No sir. We clean up well.
It’s just there’s a softness in a woman who knows she doesn’t have to chase.
Beauty, I’m telling you.
In the way that true, real, honest-to-good beauty doesn’t have to try to impress.
I wanted to run around campus grabbing every young woman and tell her, “I have it! The true secret to beauty.”
Just think if I could bottle this?
I’d be a gazillionaire.
Of course, tis not to be.
Like that treasured item listed as “on order,” when you try to buy a coveted item from a catalog. Beauty is that destination so many of them will spend their time, money and angst trying to get to.
Alas, would they be able to hear the only way to a truly beautiful body?
It is time. It is living. It is acceptance. It is gratitude.
It was on full display at my college reunion.
To my classmates. To you, Dear Reader.
Let me assure you.
You are truly beautiful.
About the Author