Beautiful inside - but wait. That's what counts.

I promised myself long ago that I would never get cosmetic surgery, and I'm going to stick to that.  But these days I better understand the women who do choose that route.  Especially now that I'm not wearing glasses, which used to hide how small my eyes are, and the marsupial-like pouch under each eye.  (I swear, I half expect a baby possum to poke its little nose out any moment now.)

When I look in a mirror, I can still see, or at least remember, the girl, the teenager, the young woman I was.  She is there and she has also disappeared into the hoary mists of antiquity.  She has given way to this very nice, perfectly fine, but sort of tired-looking middle-aged woman.  All I can say is, I feel very fortunate in this moment that I didn't become famous, as I used to want to be, because famous people are examined and judged and criticized for every part of themselves, but especially for how they look, especially women.  It's easy to say I won't get cosmetic surgery when I'm pretty sure no one cares one way or another.  If I thought anyone were looking, I don't know that I would have the courage to allow myself to age naturally and gracefully, as some European actresses seem to do.

If Sweet Hubby dies before me, well, it's a good thing I have all this personality, because nobody's going to go for me for how I look.  They used to, but even then, even when I was young and juicy and slim, I was never a first tier beauty.  I always thought I should be, because of all this personality, but I also didn't do to myself what truly beautiful women are supposed to do.  You know, make-up, styled hair, tight skirt showing off a rounded butt, enhanced breasts, dangerously uncomfortable shoes. I think I knew even then that every effort I made would just make me look like someone who was trying to be beautiful, not someone who actually was.

You know, all this talk of beauty is actually making me feel a little disgusted, and only reveals that I have bought into this Beauty Culture even as I resist it and decry the damage it does.  It seems so unnatural how much emphasis we in this country, and maybe in the world, put on the external, when we all know on some level that the external doesn't really count for anything, not anything real, not anything true and genuine.

I did have an insight last night which rather caused my head to spin.  I was feeling all affectionate and in love and decided to tell Sweet Hubby all the things I love about him.  Not all, of course; that list is infinite, and isn't really a list but an essence.  Anyway, I was going on and on about how much I love his artistic side (ceramicist, actor, director, writer, loves color and music and asymmetry), which is coupled with his eggheadiness (worked for NASA, understands computers, you know, the brainiac at school who didn't fit in because he was smarter than almost everyone else, who loves solving puzzles and problems), which is coupled with his man's manliness (loves tools, loves working with his hands, good at whatever activity he tries [skiing, kayaking, parachuting, archery, etc], coupled with the fact that he is an absolute love god.  He might not be for everyone, but he sure sends me to the moon.

And as I was going on and on about how amazing and wonderful he is, I suddenly realized that someone like this wouldn't, couldn't fall in love with anyone who couldn't stand toe to toe and eye to eye with him.  Which means maybe I'm amazing and wonderful, too.  Wow.  I may faint.