Beauty and the Inner Beast

You can take no credit for beauty at sixteen. But if you are beautiful at sixty, it will be your soul's own doing. ~Marie Stopes

Several weeks ago, I was listening to news on the radio in the car. Most of the time, I spend my hours driving in a half aware state about what's playing. I do try to pay attention to the road, given my less than stellar auto skills. However, one report caught my attention; in a recent survey, 1000 women, age 40-55, were asked if they would rather be 20 years younger, 1 million dollars richer or 20 pounds thinner. An overwhelming majority, over 70%, stated that their wish would be youth. Initially, I was surprised. After all, I'm both happy and proud to be 44. I would never chose to be another age. I'm far more comfortable in my skin than I was in my teens or twenties. Still, the survey caught my attention and drew me to think more deeply about the idea of aging women in our society. Apparently the same survey was given to men, and over 90% would choose to be 1 million dollars richer. So, why are women more concerned about youth than men, in the same age category, are?

Part of this is due to our current society. Hollywood glamorizes young girls, as does the modeling industry. How many women over 40, no matter how stunning, are picked to walk the runway by designers? How many fabulously talented and gorgeous women find their acting careers to be derailed once they reach "a certain age"? Women do not see images of female characters who physically resemble them often. The good roles seem to be few and far between, and women over 40 are relegated to playing mothers...often to men who aren't much younger than they are themselves. This double standard of embracing maturing, handsome men while tossing charismatic, passionate women is unnerving. When a woman in her 40's is sexually aware, she's considered a "Cougar". A man of the same age is simply considered a man. Women are predatory, whereas men are "normal". It's insulting and unfair. A man who marries a much younger woman gets a 'trophy wife'....as a prize. A woman in the same life circumstances is teased about 'robbing the cradle' and having a Boy Toy. For men, it's to be applauded. For women, it's embarrassing. Of course, our society is telling us nothing new in the devaluation of middle aged women. For centuries, men married, and fathered children well into their upper years.

Rather than be angry at this scenario, I find it's simply not worth the anger. What this situation has done has been to teach me to find what beauty means to me, at this point in my life. I wouldn't want to be 18 again. When I think of the anguish, the heartbreak, the lack of wisdom and my own insecurities, I shudder with regret. I think of how often I allowed other people's opinion's of me to shape how I felt about myself. I remember how helpless I felt when confronted with unsettling relationships. I cringe when I realize how much of my own happiness was based upon how I allowed others to treat me. My self-worth was changeable as the weather, and my confidence only seemed to be in place when someone else was praising me. To give up the knowledge I've worked so hard for would be unthinkable. Every gray hair reminds me of a battle I've fought and won. Each wrinkle represents a day spent laughing. To give those up would be to walk backwards, forgetting the extraordinary beauty in life that can only come with experience, with pain and with passion.

Rather than cosmetic surgery, or fad products, I try to encourage my yoga students to look within. I know that many of them roll their eyes at me. Yet, the most beautiful women of any age are those who exude confidence, charisma and wit. This doesn't happen overnight. A woman's inner beauty isn't something that she's born with. It's a gift that she earns by working through her demons. Obviously, if a woman is blessed with wonderful DNA for gorgeous legs or flawless skin, it's a huge benefit. However, if she's bitter, hostile, jealous or selfish, those natural gifts aren't going to go very far. My theology class is taught by a lovely woman in her late 60's. Her long gray hair is pulled back in a pony tail and her clothes are those of an Episcopal priest. However, her melodious voice, her brilliant comments and her zest for life make this woman absolutely breathtaking. Her love for life, and those around her, radiates and although she doesn't look like any of the girls from High School Musical, Reverend Glass becomes captivating. When I ask myself if I'd rather be my theology teacher when I grow up, or to age backwards to be a Disney creation, there is no contest....my reverend would win out every time. Beauty comes from the way a woman speaks, the way she carries herself, her zest for learning new things and her own sense of who she is. A woman who knows herself well, who doesn't depend upon the opinions of others, is beautiful at any age.

I wasted decades of my life worried about my weight, my hair and my clothes. I wish I'd spent a tenth of that time working on 'esteemable acts' to boost my skills in practical areas. Interestingly, I may be twenty pounds heavier than I was on my wedding day, but I've never felt more beautiful. It's nothing whatsoever about the woman who gazes back at me in the mirror. If I relied on that image, I'm sure I'd be back into my pit of despair. Rather, my confidence comes from doing what I love to do, being with the people I adore and feeling proud of the life I've tried to build. Have I fallen short in some areas? Of course. But, have I walked towards my dreams? Absolutely. I find that, even just working towards those goals in life leaves me with an air of fearlessness. It took me more than forty years to discover that fortitude, courage and self-possession are what makes a woman beautiful. Like Moses leading the Israelites through the wilderness, it took me that long to reach my own "promised land".

Take a look in the mirror and ask yourself what you see? Do you see wrinkles, age spots or thinning hair? Or, do you see a person who is traveling on a journey and has gained beauty-increasing wisdom along the way? Slay the inner beast of being self-critical and look for the beauty. It's there.

The Time Between

But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day. ~Benjamin Disraeli

As a writer, one of the of skills I find the most fascinating is an author's ability to account for the non-linear aspects of time. Talented writers can express this through flash-backs, through moving in multiple directions of a character's imagination or simply by writing with the fluidity of ocean currents, moving from one time to another. Not long ago, I read that "time is linear, but human behavior is circular". Moving between times in a character's life, or moving between characters living at different points in history, is an intriguing method in story telling. As time becomes less fixed and more movable, the characters can relate to one another, and the story can be told, by unwrapping each layer of scarf covering the singular core of the protagonist. As time becomes less of a fixed point in the literary horizon, the author is free to explore what actions happened before she came on the scene, as well as to look ahead as to the ramifications of an action years later. These perspectives can tell a story more deeply, while not boring the reader with dull facts about 'what happened before'.

Two books that used this concept with artistry and finesse are "Labor Day" by Joyce Maynard and "Dreaming in French" by Megan McAndrew. Both of these brilliant, insightful novels revolve around a young adolescent, struggling to come to terms with their own lives 'in between' childhood and adulthood, while still dealing with life changing events that forever bind their existence into a time 'before' and 'after'. The central story in the novels themselves can be looked as the "time in between"...the days during which everything changed. Yet, both of these extraordinary stories use time in a non-linear fashion; to help the authors to give background information that isn't dull, but is exceptionally relevant. Both novels explore the deep seated feelings of not belonging, of wanting one's parents to be 'normal' and of being uncertain of one's place in an increasingly adult world. Both of these stories tell, in the eyes of dramatically different main characters, the impact of feeling out of place, of not being a child any longer, but also not being ready for adulthood. These novels accomplish the feat of combining innocence with unyielding knowledge, of being equally balanced between a character's intelligence and inexperience. Both are gifts of instinctual genius....to capture the minds, thoughts, deliberations and allowances of the 13 year old mind during exceptional circumstances. I couldn't put either book down once I began reading.

The time in between childhood and adulthood seems to go on forever, when a person is young. I remember being 13 and feeling desperate to be 16. Then, at 16, I was desperate to be 18. I can materialize my adolescent self and feel her frustration, her joys, her insecurities, her gifts and her fears. I can conjure her up with a photograph, and want to look into her eyes, admonishing her to cherish every moment of youth, encouraging her not to cry over boys who will be forgotten or slights that will vanish. I want to whisper to her the secret of "you may want to move on right now...you may not like the way you look or the way your life is, but there will come a time that you would do anything for five minutes back in these shoes....". I want to give young Ellen a hug, make her a cup of tea, and without giving away too much of the adventure that lies ahead, assuring her that all will not only be well....it will be far better than well. I wish I could allow young Ellen to relax, to breathe and to imprint every single moment of youth on herself so that I could better recall it with clarity now. I would like her to see that her life will not be over when she sees the first gray hair, that her hopes and dreams will far surpass anything she could imagined for herself and that time itself will become her friend and companion. Time becomes one's medicine to help get over loss, one's ally in making choices and one's vault in which to bank one's precious memories.

I would also like to encourage my younger self not to discount the memories of older people. As a child and a young teen, I remember listening to the stories of my grandmother and great-aunts as they recalled their childhoods growing up in Winnipeg, Manitoba. It seemed to always be cold. It appeared as if everyone was always fighting, and that there was never enough money. Beyond that, I simply didn't listen. I would hear the same grievances rolled out every year, and the same grudges being held from infractions that occurred when they were my own age. I simply didn't listen with the rapt attention to the stories of our family because I thought these retellings, these hashings over and these tribulations were "boring" and "done". What I failed to realize was that my grandmother's recollections of her own adolescence were windows into the universal spirit of all coming of age stories. I wish I'd understood that within these squabbles lay buried family histories I'd never come to explain or perceive. In Grandma's own 'time between' would lie the answers to my own. I was even given the gift of non-linear time to explore and to enrich, but I wasn't ready to use the gift when it was presented to me.

"The time between" is an alluring concept to deduce. It can be a literary device. It can be a way of explaining moments that seem to stand out between two fixed points. It can also be a way to comprehend those times in a person's life in which she feels suspended between two sides of bridge. Underneath the bridge appears a bottomless chasm. On one side is the familiar, the known and the learned. But that side has begun to crumble and we have no choice but to cross the rickety, shaky bridge ahead. What is on the far side is shrouded in mist and we can't see ahead. Yet, we press, carefully, tentatively pressing on with each step, and hoping the sun will break through the fog that lies ahead.

If you happen to peer into the clouds and see what awaits, find a hush within yourself....and ask questions. You never know what the answers will be. I'm sure they will surprise you.