THE QUERY OF BEAUTY – How It All Got Started

young-NYC

Reflection Eternal from May 18, 2001 @ 19 Years Old

RE:  MY INITIAL INQUIRY INTO THE NATURE OF BEAUTY

Well, I just spent like two hours reading journal entries from the past eight years of my life.  It kind of makes me realize how very insignificant everything really is.  Strange.  I still can’t get over how very strange it is, how things change over time.

Sometimes I feel like such an idiot.  I always used to think I was smart…I was.  I think, I mean I am I guess, but I am such a ditz.  Reading through all those journal entries, I mean I know I can’t compare myself to other people (…or shouldn’t, rather…), but I am an idiot.  I don’t know.  I just have no idea what to do with my life.  At all.

Later

People sometimes think I’m beautiful.  People often think I’m beautiful.  This baffles me.  I’m not tall or extremely thin.  I don’t have long, wavy, gorgeous blonde hair.  I have short dark brown hair…my natural color, no highlights.  I don’t have blue eyes, I have light brown eyes with a hint of green.  My clothes don’t always match…nor do I care.  I’m a pretty smart girl…but by no means a genius like Caleb.  I have little to no common sense.  I act like a ditz half the time, for reasons I can’t even explain.

I bite my nails.  I have scars on my face and arms and feet.  I have huge feet with extremely long toes.  I cry a lot.  I can’t stick to anything…at all.  I have horrible taste in men…so far.  My breasts are small.  I have love handles.  My hair is always in my eyes.  My glasses are ugly.  I have a god-awful lamp sitting on my lingerie chest that I love.  My spelling is atrocious!  And yet people think I’m beautiful.

I just can’t figure it out.  I hate to even think about it because I have this fear that it’s just this huge joke that everyone is in on.  I can’t figure it out for the life of me.  Stella once told me, in more words, that I was beautiful.  I have a high-pitched, annoying voice that people make fun of all the time.  Most of the time I am either completely happy or completely depressed.  I always come up with unbearably unrealistic, off-the-wall ideas.

Do people not see all of this?  Or is it this that is beauty?  I can’t figure it out.  In high school I was so shy for so long…and yet to this day I still find out from strange people that guys I went to high school with were and still are head-over-heals in love with me.  It doesn’t make any sense.  I’m an awful driver.   I’m scared to make new friends.  I’m living in Minnesota now.  I grew up in Ohio for god’s sake.  And yet people think I’m beautiful.  It’s a strange place, this world is.