"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
How many of us heard this expression and thought "What a crock of shit?" I know I did, many times, many years ago.
But I was young, foolish, and looked like the ass end of a horse in those days. My main concern was being attractive. So, I put certain behaviors on a shelf along with all my parents' teachings a long time ago. To my mind, men/boys didn't care about actions, only what I looked like in a skirt. That was enough to alter me for years to come.
That was the beginning of an ending I wrote into my life: "Hindsight is 20/20" they say. Had I remained the person my mother and father nurtured, the pages of my life may have been written differently. But I didn't.
Even as an adult—even in my thirties—my behavior was questionable. To be sure, part of me was a good person; a good friend. But the other half was ambitious, conniving, deceptive, and wild. But I was visibly attractive—somewhat at any rate.
This other half guided me into a relationship I thought would last forever. It lasted a mere fourteen years. And in those fourteen years, I did things that I truly regret (that I'm truly ashamed of). Things that I thought would keep my relationship intact. Things I thought my ex-husband wanted—needed—me to do. In those days, I became someone I thought he needed me to be. But as I said, I wrote our ending years before when I exchanged the better person of my youth for the lemon into which I developed. This souring only attracted people of the same nature. So my pugnacity grew. The moral and proper behaviors instilled in me as a child vanished. We squeezed each other dry until only bitter memories remained.
It took me two years to realize what I had done. I blamed my ex in the beginning. But he was what he was.
I couldn't change that. I could, however, change myself.
Of course, change—any change—is not a quick process. With the help of good friends, my mother, and my children, however, the old me resurfaced. Just a little at first, and then I meet Jeff through author Barry Eisler on March 6, 2007. The rest is now history.
Before continuing, I must state that Jeff was a godsend: We grew close rather quickly. And to this day, the reason for this escapes me. I only know that on that fateful day I found the answer to my prayers.
Of this man, I say this: His years on this earth, regardless of what transpired, molded the exemplary person who now stands at my side. He's honest, kind, and forthright and as different from the men of my past as night and day. His integrity took me by the hand two and a half years ago and has not let go since. I am a better person, in part, because of him.
At first, I was afraid to mention my past—to mention my recklessness—to this mountain of a man. But I finally did. To which he inquired, "What did you feel like when you did those things?"
Never, and I mean never, had anyone ever asked this question. Simply the asking lit the proverbial light bulb in my head. I hadn't liked it—I hadn't liked me. Perhaps this assisted my "change?" The person I could be proud of was there all along.
Therefore, when I read my e-mails from men or women who mention their negative behaviors, I cringe. Through e-mails I cannot identify these people as having good natures. Hell, I didn't see my own for many years.
Hence, if we do things we regret, we should ask ourselves Jeff's question. If we hate ourselves for what we do, then nurture those feelings: not the amoral ones. If, however, we feel no remorse, then we are a horse of a different color and my advice may not be that which my readers seek.
The idiom, "A tiger doesn't change his stripes" comes to mind. I'm not one to judge though. How could I? My past is as checkered as the next guy's. I simply learn from my mistakes and hopefully redirect others to a better path.
I do, however, know that inner beauty lights our way.
If we cannot discern black from white; right from wrong, then the grays become even harder. As Jeff says, "Never forget that gray is a mixture of black and white." And since life is chock-full of all three it may behoove us to figure out which is which. Or one can take my mother's advice: "Treat others as you wish to be treated." But if all else fails, my father's counsel was pretty damned good as well: "If someone jumped off a cliff would you?"
For the sake of illustration: It's easy to nag simply for the sake of nagging, right? But what if the amount of nagging, or measuring one person's nagging against another's is the issue? My mom does it; my friends do it; no big deal then. These are grays—are they not?
No, not really. To nag is to pester or annoy; to torment with anxiety; to scold, complain, or find fault constantly. Therefore, any amount of it is harmful in any relationship.
What's important is how we live our lives; how we treat others.
We should all stop and take a long hard look, every now and then, at whom we've become; or at the very least, the fallout we create by our actions. We must know that external beauty is limited. At some point, we all face the aging process. But our ethics and morals remain intact until the day of our death. So, which benefits us most?
My guess: the inside. The outside takes care of itself.
At the age of fifty-two, my looks aren't anything to write home about. But in my mind I'm the catch of the century for retaining the principles I learned at an early age. I'd like to think that Jeff saw these things in me on the day we met, or soon thereafter.
No one's life is a bed of roses. But creating a stench that permeates our futures isn't conducive to happiness either. My father used to say, "Bullshit works for a while, but eventually people know you for who you really are, and you're left with an ugly stain that no amount of soap will wash off." He was right.
Hence, when next we hear "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," remember our physical appearance deteriorates with time, but our inner beauty does not and it is what attracts people most in the long run—for the long haul. It may stay hidden for a while, as mine did, but eventually it'll crawl from the dunghill under which we buried it, brush itself off, and surprise us.
No shit.