“She has wrinkly knees,” was the response my 8th grader supplied last spring in answer to my inquiry as to what could be so awful about his math teacher that would cause his grade to plummet. I felt myself suck my breath in. How could a boy who has not even fully made it to manhood know that he’d just delved into an arena of dread and distress for me? It might even make the top-ten list of most middle-aged women: The fear of aging.
Of course, his teacher’s knees had nothing to do with his performance in math class. He couldn’t have known either that I’ve been looking at my own knees lately, wishing I could stop the pooling of skin at my joints that has me wondering if, despite my dedication to running, I’ll someday resemble an elephant. But I found it perplexing that in his desperate grasp for some excuse to deflect attention from the real issue, he chose to blame her appearance.
I don’t know a woman out there who hasn’t at one time or another wanted to change some physical feature in hopes that the alteration would make her more attractive to men. I’m struck by the excessive amount of time I’ve spent over the course of my lifetime worried about what I look like. I’m sure it’s crossed my mind multiple times every single day of my life. Is that normal?
I’m talking about it now because I’m wondering how often a woman unsure of her appearance allows her power and confidence to be sapped. Do we share less of ourselves with others if we feel we don’t look right?
When we speak up, people notice us. And they are taking in far more than just the words coming out of our mouths. They’re looking at how we carry ourselves, whether we deliver our message with a smile, or a frown, with a deliberate ease, or in an uncomfortable rush. And they’re looking at what we look like. Is our clothing appropriate for the environment, is our jewelry too loud or excessive, is our hair smooth or disheveled? Heels too high? Make-up too pronounced? Perfume too strong? The list goes on.
And sometimes, we women are harder on each other than the men are on us.
I was out for drinks with some colleagues recently, and when the waitress came over, clearly falling out of her low-cut blouse, she became the topic of conversation for the table. The men, of course, had no issue with her attire. And the women, well, we wondered why we are as compelled as the men are to gape. We pondered our reflex to compare her to ourselves, and questioned why we are so willing to judge her with a measured level of harshness. Are we so insecure in our own ability to please the men around us that we need to critique and criticize a stranger? Wasn’t she, in her selection of clothing, doing what we all do to some degree, trying to satisfy her own need to feel attractive to men?
Our society has set us up to aspire to be the beautiful people. The media heralds and chronicles celebrities’ perpetual pursuit of the fountain of youth. We’re inundated with beauty products and elixirs to fend off the beast that is aging. We’re told that bald is not beautiful, an extra ten pounds is unacceptable, teeth need to be straight and sparkling white, creases and blemishes need to be smoothed and erased, hair should be tamed, and everyone knows that even 13-year old boys are repulsed by wrinkly knees.
The real question, I think, is how do we move beyond the notion that our value is somehow wrapped up in what we look like? When we realize our power comes from who we are on the inside, we become infinitely more comfortable with what’s on the outside. I believe the collision of fading youth and flourishing wisdom is the deliberate design of a careful engineer. The challenge is in crossing over, or attraversiamo, as the Italians say.
And this takes me back to what others take away when they experience us. When I’m listening to a confident person, someone who looks comfortable in her skin, is expressive, authentic, and genuine, I probably couldn’t tell you what she’s wearing. Because she’s got me engaged in her as a person by how she is conveying what she has to share. It can be mesmerizing and unleashing. All of the beauty that is inside comes tumbling out.
With that same group of colleagues that evening in the bar, we started talking about a man we all know who is very good at this very thing. I was explaining how I feel when this guy talks to me, and I was lit up and animated telling my story. Not because I want to date him or because his behavior is exclusive to me, but because I’m so impressed with his skill and desire to make anyone he is with feel so special. He is infinitely more attractive because he is not afraid to be himself with people.
And as I was talking about him, I was watching my friends watch me. I realized that in my own genuineness, the real me was making an appearance. I could have had three heads or green skin. My friends saw something engaging in me in that instant, gleaning a beauty no amount of cosmetics could ever hope to garner.
Why not try stepping off the weight loss carousel for a bit and invest in yourself by indulging in an interest you’ve pushed aside? Your happiness with pursuing your passion will seep into interactions with everyone you meet.
Confidence creates comeliness. We might think it’s the other way around, but I’ve learned it’s not. Our bodies will eventually decline. There is no escaping it. The only option is to find the beauty inside.
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