There are blogs for everyone. The green activist, the politico, the pet lover. One of the most fun things about the blogosphere is that you can read and get a glimpse into the lives and loves of people that are very different from yourself.
A few weeks ago I read a post on Happy Healthy Hip Parenting, that I left the following comment:
"Shut up. That is one of the most BRILLIANT posts I've ever read. EVER."So, hearing that, head on over, read their post entitled Beautiful You, and then come back for some follow up.
Back yet? Didn't you love it?
Good. Beauty is certainly one of those 'opinion' subjects, isn't it? For example, I love the mountains. I think that the mountains are beautiful, but saying that I am referring to the mountains of Colorado and similar states that have tree and snow covered mountains. My husband, the famous Headless Dad grew up in Arizona and loves the mountains but his picture of the mountains is certainly different than mine. Picture desert, rock formations and cactus. Not exactly the same are they? Same word even, but a very different picture.
Reading Beautiful You I was challenged to look at things a little differently. Is old inherently not beautiful? No, I don't think so. I can think of many people that have gotten better looking with age. Antique furniture and old buildings can certainly be beautiful. Is youth inherently beautiful? Again, not necessarily. There is youth lost all around us in many ways, and it's tragic, but not beautiful nonetheless.
I've come to an age that I have both freckles AND wrinkles. Do I think that either are beautiful? Not particularly, but I don't hate them either. They are both just a part of me, of who I am on the outside. I watch small freckles emerge across the nose of my son and I smile. Those freckles are certainly beautiful to me-but will they be to him? I wonder if someday he'll hate them? Will he love that he has 'angel kisses' just like his parents, brother, and sister? Will he even notice?
I have found profound beauty in motherhood. In my newborns suckling at my breast. In my toddlers' discoveries. In my daughter blossoming into a woman. Watching them all through my own eyes, as well as my husbands, which makes it infinitely more whole. More lasting. More beautiful.
What would you say is prettier than freckles?