Beauty, Love, Dido and Why I've Been Away So Long
I realize I haven't posted in a really, really long time, and I felt this was entirely too obnoxious to post to my beloved "Today I Realized" community, so bear with me, I'm posting it here.
I'm getting more and more compliments lately on my appearance; it's so strange. For so many years, I defined myself solely by my intellect. Eventually, that gave way to judging myself for the person that I am. And he* really made me look at what I was and how I defined myself.
I'm not used to people telling me I'm pretty. I've never thought it of myself, and it's certainly not what people think of when they think of me. But lately? Objective friends have said "lovely," strangers have said "beautiful," and causal acquaintances have said "gorgeous." I don't understand.
Except that I see something of a change myself. It's nothing physical; on the contrary, I'm exhausted, underweight, depressed. I've stopped straightening my hair since the last time I saw him* and let it be, curly as it is naturally (ironically enough, his parents love it this way.) And yet...people , more and more frequently, have been commenting on my physical appearance.
Call me an idealist, a superstitious romanticized fool, but it makes me wonder. How much of what we perceive to be beauty is skin deep? I myself can only pass an objective judgment on personal appearance when I have just met a person; after that, their features blend with their character and I see the person inside. Perhaps this is what others are seeing in me now. Perhaps they see my hair, free from constraint as beautiful, because after repressing myself fro so long, I have let my natural appearance shine through. Perhaps what they are recognizing as the gleam in my eye in merely a reflection for that true, deep love that I still harbor. Perhaps the curve of my new smile-serene, collected, tinged with melancholia- is the wisdom that they see I have gained. Perhaps it is not the physical they are seeing at all, but the nobler virtues, which humans sometimes fail to recognize, whereas they do not miss the more tangible right in front of them.
Then again, there remains the slim chance that love, sorrow, and suffering have actually physically transformed me in some way. In that case, I would gladly accept them as compensation: they don't even begin to cover what I've endured. If for all that I have given, I were given beauty in return, I should be surpassing Venus any day now.
And speaking of Roman mythology, God bless Virgil for capturing in Dido that which my heart has been whispering all along. That being said, I have never wanted to see him* suffer, but all other aspects are there. I'll certainly be cutting and pasting her monologues here as a means of therapy. There's something comforting in the written word for me, hence the reason I keep a journal. (Which I've been neglecting of late.)
I had never meant for this virtual journal to take the place of my real one; I love to actually write out each word of my personal reflections. But with my days being as busy as they are, I realize that (especially) now, it's better that I get my thoughts and feelings down here rather than not getting them down at all. Forgive me these long entries. If you feel they're getting tiresome, I'll be more than happy to set them to private. However, despite being the introvert that I so clearly am, recently I've found comfort in others' feedback and a willingness to share my thoughts with strangers. Curious.
That's how things stand at the moment. And so for Dido.
*Note that this "he*"/"him*" is different than the him I usually mention here. He* and I were lovers. Pardon the ambiguity; I can't deal with the names, or even initials at this state in the game.
I'm getting more and more compliments lately on my appearance; it's so strange. For so many years, I defined myself solely by my intellect. Eventually, that gave way to judging myself for the person that I am. And he* really made me look at what I was and how I defined myself.
I'm not used to people telling me I'm pretty. I've never thought it of myself, and it's certainly not what people think of when they think of me. But lately? Objective friends have said "lovely," strangers have said "beautiful," and causal acquaintances have said "gorgeous." I don't understand.
Except that I see something of a change myself. It's nothing physical; on the contrary, I'm exhausted, underweight, depressed. I've stopped straightening my hair since the last time I saw him* and let it be, curly as it is naturally (ironically enough, his parents love it this way.) And yet...people , more and more frequently, have been commenting on my physical appearance.
Call me an idealist, a superstitious romanticized fool, but it makes me wonder. How much of what we perceive to be beauty is skin deep? I myself can only pass an objective judgment on personal appearance when I have just met a person; after that, their features blend with their character and I see the person inside. Perhaps this is what others are seeing in me now. Perhaps they see my hair, free from constraint as beautiful, because after repressing myself fro so long, I have let my natural appearance shine through. Perhaps what they are recognizing as the gleam in my eye in merely a reflection for that true, deep love that I still harbor. Perhaps the curve of my new smile-serene, collected, tinged with melancholia- is the wisdom that they see I have gained. Perhaps it is not the physical they are seeing at all, but the nobler virtues, which humans sometimes fail to recognize, whereas they do not miss the more tangible right in front of them.
Then again, there remains the slim chance that love, sorrow, and suffering have actually physically transformed me in some way. In that case, I would gladly accept them as compensation: they don't even begin to cover what I've endured. If for all that I have given, I were given beauty in return, I should be surpassing Venus any day now.
And speaking of Roman mythology, God bless Virgil for capturing in Dido that which my heart has been whispering all along. That being said, I have never wanted to see him* suffer, but all other aspects are there. I'll certainly be cutting and pasting her monologues here as a means of therapy. There's something comforting in the written word for me, hence the reason I keep a journal. (Which I've been neglecting of late.)
I had never meant for this virtual journal to take the place of my real one; I love to actually write out each word of my personal reflections. But with my days being as busy as they are, I realize that (especially) now, it's better that I get my thoughts and feelings down here rather than not getting them down at all. Forgive me these long entries. If you feel they're getting tiresome, I'll be more than happy to set them to private. However, despite being the introvert that I so clearly am, recently I've found comfort in others' feedback and a willingness to share my thoughts with strangers. Curious.
That's how things stand at the moment. And so for Dido.
*Note that this "he*"/"him*" is different than the him I usually mention here. He* and I were lovers. Pardon the ambiguity; I can't deal with the names, or even initials at this state in the game.