I have a dear friend, Cindy, whose mother is blind. She gradually lost her eyesight over the years until reaching her 80’s when she became completely blind. Recently, her family made the heart-breaking decision to arrange for her to live in a retirement/assisted living community where she could receive the 24/7 care that she needed. Years earlier, she had lost her dearest friend, her husband, to pancreatic cancer.
As a child, I spent almost as much time in Cindy’s home as I did in my own. In Dolton, Illinois, Cindy and I danced the Boogaloo and played Hang-the-Butcher in their basement. We played Hopscotch and Double-Dutch in their driveway. We played Bunco and Careers at their kitchen table. I spent many a night over there and joined plenty of dinners there.
As teenagers, Cindy and I spent hours talking about boys, experimenting with our hair, makeup and jewelry while sitting in front of the bedroom mirror. When we broke away to the kitchen to get a “soda” (my family called it “pop”), we frequently caught Cindy’s parents sitting quietly in the living room watching t.v., all the while holding hands. I knew Cindy’s family and her home as well as I knew my own.
After 50+ years, I’m still good friends with Cindy and keep in touch with her Mom. In a recent conversation with her Mom, I learned that she was adjusting well to her new surroundings. She delighted in telling me that she has constant companionship, is learning to navigate, is enjoying good food, and has made many new friends. Most important, she continues to be grateful for the love and daily visits from her family. She was beaming as she was bringing me up to date.
It occurred to me that if there was one thing I wanted Cindy’s Mom to be able to see, it would be her own smile. More so than seeing her new great-granddaughter and more so than seeing the faces of her children, I want her to see her own smile. It’s radiant and, no doubt, would cause her to smile all the more. I’m sure she has no idea what beauty she is always projecting.
It also got me thinking about beauty and what may be an additional, overlooked dimension to it. It’s that rare kind of beauty that straddles both inner and outer. It’s a beauty expressed by the soul at the same time that it is being presented in a handsome Hollywood frame. That’s what Cindy’s Mom has. It’s what she’s always had. It’s what I observed as a child when she held her husband’s hand. When you see her smile, you see not only a pretty face, you see her soul and her genuine joie de vivre.
My own mother has this form of beauty and she’s just as blind to it as Cindy’s Mom. My Mom’s laugh is one that is a cross between a child’s giggle and my favorite song. It is, in every sense of the word, music to my ears. I’m fortunate that I get to hear this sparkling laughter often because there are so many things that strike my mother as being funny. It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke at her own expense, a quip in Reader’s Digest, or a tale of her great grandchildren’s adventures, she simply loves to laugh.
And, simply stated, this form of beauty is so special because it’s a beauty that returns beauty. You are rewarded for being exposed to it.
When visitors to my website, MyLooksOnline.com, offer honest opinions to those who have asked questions about their looks, they will, without knowing it, be responding to more than just the photo and the frame.
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Friday, December 11, 2009
Looks Are Important, But Who Cares?
Looks are important. I hate that. It means that my lazy left eye will always preempt my efforts to “put on my best face,” “put my best foot forward,” not to mention (chuckle, chuckle) “look someone straight in the eye.” It means that my rounded tummy, crow’s feet and sagging jowls will always contradict my eager outbursts of “That’s just like totally awesome!” And, it means that my Facebook closings of “LOL” will always betray the gray-haired old lady trying to keep up in our abbreviated techno texting culture.
Looks can certainly undermine the message. They give us away in ways we would rather not disclose. I’d like to promote my well-trained, albeit phony, air of self-confidence; however, my chewed up cuticles generally give me away at the hand-shake. Bad habits, bad behavior and bad thinking are permanently stamped on our faces. Likewise, the good habits we develop, the good behavior we practice and the good thinking we follow are also imprinted on us. In other words, there’s solid reason behind both our laugh lines and our permanent scowls. We can wear disguises but these are fragile masks waiting to fall from the weight of evidence.
The good news is that, while looks are important, the degree of importance seems to diminish as we get older. This is not to suggest that people in their 70’s, 80’s and 90’s are not mindful of their appearance. On the contrary, I have family members in those age groups who look great and still spend time carefully coordinating the day’s attire. They are fashionable, healthy and continue to produce a polished appearance in their clothing and hairstyles. However, as we gain life’s experiences – the joys, the sorrows – we tend to prioritize differently. What’s a lazy left eye when your sister has cancer? What’s the big deal about sagging jowls when your father faces open-heart surgery? And, what’s so offensive about chewed-up cuticles when you lose your job?
While I’m convinced that, as a general rule, looks will remain important in our society, the importance to me personally proved to be somewhat temporary. I still compare myself to others … human nature, I suppose. But, that futile exercise has been superseded by an even more futile exercise of comparing myself of today to myself of yesterday. I now wake up each day and say “What’s this? Another new wrinkle? Damn, when did that happen?” And, then I say, “Aah, who cares?”
So, while there is still a shred of interest on your part to help yourself look good, visit my website MyLooksOnline.com. We will answer your questions about your looks, whether you’re 20 years old and highly invested in the answers or 90 years old and only mildly curious what others think!
http://www.mylooksonline.com/
Looks can certainly undermine the message. They give us away in ways we would rather not disclose. I’d like to promote my well-trained, albeit phony, air of self-confidence; however, my chewed up cuticles generally give me away at the hand-shake. Bad habits, bad behavior and bad thinking are permanently stamped on our faces. Likewise, the good habits we develop, the good behavior we practice and the good thinking we follow are also imprinted on us. In other words, there’s solid reason behind both our laugh lines and our permanent scowls. We can wear disguises but these are fragile masks waiting to fall from the weight of evidence.
The good news is that, while looks are important, the degree of importance seems to diminish as we get older. This is not to suggest that people in their 70’s, 80’s and 90’s are not mindful of their appearance. On the contrary, I have family members in those age groups who look great and still spend time carefully coordinating the day’s attire. They are fashionable, healthy and continue to produce a polished appearance in their clothing and hairstyles. However, as we gain life’s experiences – the joys, the sorrows – we tend to prioritize differently. What’s a lazy left eye when your sister has cancer? What’s the big deal about sagging jowls when your father faces open-heart surgery? And, what’s so offensive about chewed-up cuticles when you lose your job?
While I’m convinced that, as a general rule, looks will remain important in our society, the importance to me personally proved to be somewhat temporary. I still compare myself to others … human nature, I suppose. But, that futile exercise has been superseded by an even more futile exercise of comparing myself of today to myself of yesterday. I now wake up each day and say “What’s this? Another new wrinkle? Damn, when did that happen?” And, then I say, “Aah, who cares?”
So, while there is still a shred of interest on your part to help yourself look good, visit my website MyLooksOnline.com. We will answer your questions about your looks, whether you’re 20 years old and highly invested in the answers or 90 years old and only mildly curious what others think!
http://www.mylooksonline.com/
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Mr. Magoo on a Really Bad Day
I was in the banking industry for most of my 38-year career, but banking was never my expertise nor my passion. What I, and most of the female members of my family, excelled in was the art of critical observation of other people’s looks. It started when my sisters and I were kids.
While our friends were practicing the piano, guitar, drawing and gymnastics, we were practicing insult bombs. And, we got really good at it. It was never sufficient to toss out a lame “you’re ugly,” or “you’re stupid,” or “Mom & Dad hate you.” Those were o.k., but, let’s face it, they were tired and worn. We aimed for that single element of truth found beneath all sobering insults. “Your face looks just like a cardboard box.” Or, stretching our creative juices, “You look like an anteater from the back of your head.” And, directed towards me, “You look like Mr. Magoo on a really bad day.”
Most often, the attacks were met with equally brutal retaliations. “Oh yea? Well, at least I don’t have a pizza pimple face filled with pock marks!” Or “Oh yea? Well at least I (always began with ‘Oh yea, Well at least I’), don’t chew my toenails like a monkey!” (Like it would be o.k. to chew them like a human being…?)
There was certainly nothing ambiguous about our verbal punches. We knew the buttons to push and the soft-bellies to target. “Do something about your big toe – it looks like a bald man trying to escape foot jail.” “Did you know your face gets all weird and scrunchy when you laugh?” Not content with plain old verbal slams, we supported our accusations with animated mockery. To imitate the scrunch, we would crease our cheeks and force-fit dimples where none previously existed. “See? This is how you look. Nah nah nah nah nah.” The effect was powerful enough to make the accused never laugh again.
We would proudly extend sleek & slender toes and compare them to the sister sporting the hideous bald-man ones. “This is the way toes should look.” Oh, the shame and horror of having bald-man toes. We had taken the hippocratic oath, and put our own special spin on it “First, do harm.”
What we didn’t appreciate at the time was that poetic justice would soon kick in. The face that “looked like a cardboard box” was actually the early development of my sister’s strong, model jaw-line that the rest of us would come to envy. Or that the “anteater-from-the-back-of-the-head” resemblance was borne out of a beautiful, thick braid of hair that cascaded down my sister’s back. To this day, her hair remains thick and lustrous and never grew as thin and gray as our’s did. (The Mr. Magoo crack, on the other hand, stemming from my ultra-thick eyeglasses, was just plain mean and never really redeemed itself.)
As we grew into teenagers, we expanded our critiques to the rest of the world. No one escaped our ruthless observations. We didn’t see just a female student at school; we saw a girl who may have had beautiful auburn hair, but who really needed to do something about her makeup. We argued that her eye shadow was too blue or not blue enough, her nose was too big, her teeth too crooked, or that none of it mattered if she would only stand up straight instead of slouching like a squirrel hunting for nuts.
This is what we talked about. We were honing skills for careers in industries that hadn’t yet been invented, like the Inhumanities or Social Dis-Services.
Then, out of the blue, we grew up. We matured. And, Voila - we became kind. Our harsh words were now tempered with consideration for each other’s feelings. (We had feelings?! Who knew?!)
But, something was lost. Maturity breeds caution and caution is not always what the doctor orders.
One day, as I studied myself in the mirror, I thought “Your skin is too bland, your eyes too bugged, your jaw-line too weak, and that mile-long space between your nose & upper lip has to be surgically corrected. Face it, kid, you’re hideous.” My sisters were right all along – I DID look like Mr. Magoo, when he had a fever of 105 degrees.
So, I asked friends and family if any of this was true and, of course, the answer from all was a resounding “NO!” In fact, according to them - this mealy-mouthed, backboneless bunch of matured namby-pambies - I was fine just the way I was. Not even my trusted partners-in-abuse - my sisters - would confirm any of it. C’mon…some of it HAD to be true!
It occurred to me that we were all being too adult about this criticism thing. Too sensitive to each other’s feelings. Too invested. Too cautious. How can people get the truth about their looks in a world where adults - adults who had been so perfectly trained in honest ridicule since childhood - now fall victim to the paralyzed, politically correct?
It was then that I decided to create My Looks Online.com. I wanted a platform where frankness is not crippled by kindness. Where people can get truthful, honest answers to their sincere questions about their looks. The website does not invite rudeness (in fact, will remove it when found), nor insults. But, it does provide the opportunity for someone to ask, for example, if the outfit he or she chose for a class reunion is appropriate. I wanted my sisters, and the rest of the world, to be able to anonymously respond with “Please reconsider – that outfit is [fill in the blank] for a class reunion.” Or alternatively, “You look amazing. Knock ‘em dead!” Whatever the truth, as they saw it, might be.
The site should be up and running soon. In the meantime, I miss the “one-ups” that my sisters and I mastered when we were younger. However, being the mature adult I am today, I admit that I would have preferred a likening to Mr. Magoo on a really good day!
While our friends were practicing the piano, guitar, drawing and gymnastics, we were practicing insult bombs. And, we got really good at it. It was never sufficient to toss out a lame “you’re ugly,” or “you’re stupid,” or “Mom & Dad hate you.” Those were o.k., but, let’s face it, they were tired and worn. We aimed for that single element of truth found beneath all sobering insults. “Your face looks just like a cardboard box.” Or, stretching our creative juices, “You look like an anteater from the back of your head.” And, directed towards me, “You look like Mr. Magoo on a really bad day.”
Most often, the attacks were met with equally brutal retaliations. “Oh yea? Well, at least I don’t have a pizza pimple face filled with pock marks!” Or “Oh yea? Well at least I (always began with ‘Oh yea, Well at least I’), don’t chew my toenails like a monkey!” (Like it would be o.k. to chew them like a human being…?)
There was certainly nothing ambiguous about our verbal punches. We knew the buttons to push and the soft-bellies to target. “Do something about your big toe – it looks like a bald man trying to escape foot jail.” “Did you know your face gets all weird and scrunchy when you laugh?” Not content with plain old verbal slams, we supported our accusations with animated mockery. To imitate the scrunch, we would crease our cheeks and force-fit dimples where none previously existed. “See? This is how you look. Nah nah nah nah nah.” The effect was powerful enough to make the accused never laugh again.
We would proudly extend sleek & slender toes and compare them to the sister sporting the hideous bald-man ones. “This is the way toes should look.” Oh, the shame and horror of having bald-man toes. We had taken the hippocratic oath, and put our own special spin on it “First, do harm.”
What we didn’t appreciate at the time was that poetic justice would soon kick in. The face that “looked like a cardboard box” was actually the early development of my sister’s strong, model jaw-line that the rest of us would come to envy. Or that the “anteater-from-the-back-of-the-head” resemblance was borne out of a beautiful, thick braid of hair that cascaded down my sister’s back. To this day, her hair remains thick and lustrous and never grew as thin and gray as our’s did. (The Mr. Magoo crack, on the other hand, stemming from my ultra-thick eyeglasses, was just plain mean and never really redeemed itself.)
As we grew into teenagers, we expanded our critiques to the rest of the world. No one escaped our ruthless observations. We didn’t see just a female student at school; we saw a girl who may have had beautiful auburn hair, but who really needed to do something about her makeup. We argued that her eye shadow was too blue or not blue enough, her nose was too big, her teeth too crooked, or that none of it mattered if she would only stand up straight instead of slouching like a squirrel hunting for nuts.
This is what we talked about. We were honing skills for careers in industries that hadn’t yet been invented, like the Inhumanities or Social Dis-Services.
Then, out of the blue, we grew up. We matured. And, Voila - we became kind. Our harsh words were now tempered with consideration for each other’s feelings. (We had feelings?! Who knew?!)
But, something was lost. Maturity breeds caution and caution is not always what the doctor orders.
One day, as I studied myself in the mirror, I thought “Your skin is too bland, your eyes too bugged, your jaw-line too weak, and that mile-long space between your nose & upper lip has to be surgically corrected. Face it, kid, you’re hideous.” My sisters were right all along – I DID look like Mr. Magoo, when he had a fever of 105 degrees.
So, I asked friends and family if any of this was true and, of course, the answer from all was a resounding “NO!” In fact, according to them - this mealy-mouthed, backboneless bunch of matured namby-pambies - I was fine just the way I was. Not even my trusted partners-in-abuse - my sisters - would confirm any of it. C’mon…some of it HAD to be true!
It occurred to me that we were all being too adult about this criticism thing. Too sensitive to each other’s feelings. Too invested. Too cautious. How can people get the truth about their looks in a world where adults - adults who had been so perfectly trained in honest ridicule since childhood - now fall victim to the paralyzed, politically correct?
It was then that I decided to create My Looks Online.com. I wanted a platform where frankness is not crippled by kindness. Where people can get truthful, honest answers to their sincere questions about their looks. The website does not invite rudeness (in fact, will remove it when found), nor insults. But, it does provide the opportunity for someone to ask, for example, if the outfit he or she chose for a class reunion is appropriate. I wanted my sisters, and the rest of the world, to be able to anonymously respond with “Please reconsider – that outfit is [fill in the blank] for a class reunion.” Or alternatively, “You look amazing. Knock ‘em dead!” Whatever the truth, as they saw it, might be.
The site should be up and running soon. In the meantime, I miss the “one-ups” that my sisters and I mastered when we were younger. However, being the mature adult I am today, I admit that I would have preferred a likening to Mr. Magoo on a really good day!
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