Hidden and Visible Scars

We are a visual society; no doubt.  We are bombarded every day with visual images that appeal to our desires and even our dislikes.  I’m a part of the ‘we’.  I love pretty things. I love art, nature, the wonder of the universe, the shape of a man, and colorful food makes me hungry.  But beneath, in the making, in the growing, and often in places we can’t see - there is a mixture of hidden and visible scars that led to the beautiful image in front of us. Many of us never notice these scars, because it takes a different kind of eyes to see them.

I was blessed in the aspect that I was raised by a blind man.  I learned before I could I walk to “see” differently. It’s like a native language, and not really something that one can fully learn as an adult with the same degree.  While a new language can be easily obtained, that natural fluidity is something else entirely. I lend this ability to see differently to one of the main foundations in my writing as well.

My eyes are drawn to the hidden and visible scars of the human soul, and it’s often very painful.  The feelings sometimes are so overwhelming I just crumble inside, yet also inspiring that I can’t help but smile. I see people differently, I see beauty and cruelty, I see depth and shallowness, I see love and indifference when I meet a person, especially when I’m simply talking to them face to face. I try to avoid their eyes, because that’s when I see them most clearly. Their scars don’t scare me away, but intrigue me.  Their imperfections I find the most beautiful. 

None of us are perfect.  I think I’m an amazing person.  I would be intrigued by me. I love that woman I see in the mirror, because even though she has accomplished many things, and has an energy that is almost uncontrollable – I see her visible and hidden scars.  I see that small white scar on her left breast where once death dared to attack. I see those huge, long white lines that run down the length of her stomach and remember the years of suffering and freedom that followed. I see the small white scar from the blade that wanted to kill me.  I see the little burn marks and remember that scared little girl that once thought her world would always be filled with darkness. I see the Cesarean and stretch marks that were gained bringing the three most important people into my life – lives that was created within me and that I brought into this world. I also see the scar of the child I never got to hold.  I see the loose skin, the graying hairs, the beginning wrinkles, the cottage-cheese thighs and other signs of getting older.  I see the limp hair and weak teeth due to chemo and vitamin deficiencies.  I see all those things – yet when I look at myself I see a beautiful soul.

Some will never see beyond a pretty face. Many will never able to get passed a fat ass, a broken tooth, flabby skin, or something else very shallow.  We are a visual world.  We want the world to accept us and all our hidden and visible scars, but we are not willing to do the same for others.  We want everyone to understand our pain, our hopes, our dreams, but often unwilling to listen and be a support for someone else’s pain, hopes and dreams. That’s why I love pets.  Pets don’t give a damn how you look – they care about how you treat them. If you love and feed them, you are the most beautiful thing in the world to them.

I know I’m weird, and odd, and definitely not typical – because I’m drawn to the deep.  I’m drawn to what I can feel when I close my eyes, more than what I can see when I have them open. I’m attracted to souls, not faces, not even if they look like Jason Mamoa.  I’m drawn to a presence that allows me to feel safe, to feel free to be myself, to feel unafraid to show my scars. But the world is superficial. It’s one of the reasons I’m often afraid to meet new people. In my experience it doesn’t go so well.  It’s human nature to put our best foot forward and greet the world with a smile.  Because of who I am, the energy I express, how I speak, or how I’m open, or what I’ve accomplished - I am often placed on a pedestal, loved by an ideology that was created in their minds, and desired by an imagination of who they want me to be – and in reality they meet a simple woman riddled with hidden and visible scars.  I am still all they imagined, just their vision changed. The fall hurts, no matter how big or small.  With this vision of mine, I always see it when it happens – and it happens a lot. 

I can’t control how the world sees me, or loves me, or doesn’t.  I love me JUST the way I am.  I am enough. I am beautiful regardless of my imperfections and my scars. I am a good woman. I have a good heart. I can hold my head high because I am filled with integrity. I have been through hell so many times, yet refuse to let it embitter me, or break me, or use it as an excuse to become a mean, cruel, and selfish person.  I’m not perfect, but I possess a perfect love.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

What is a Picture of Beauty?

I post a lot of pictures of me on my Facebook, most of them of me smiling or just enjoying life.  I’ve been told that I’m narcissistic, that I’m just obsessed with myself.  For those who think or comment in that manner shows me they know nothing about me. If you scroll through my blog or my Facebook, you’ll not find a picture more than five or six years old.  I personally only have less than a dozen.  Why? I never took pictures of myself because I didn’t feel I mattered.  Others didn’t take and post pictures of me either; they still don’t, because I don’t matter to them, not even my friends today. If I’m on their pages, it’s because I’ve tagged myself in a picture that I took, not one that they took of me. 

I started taking ‘selfies’ when I read an meme that stated, “If you want to see what or who someone values or fears losing, look at who and what they take pictures of.” That hit me right in the heart and deep in my soul.  It was like God whispered in my ear to pay attention.  It had me scrolling through my pictures of beautiful outdoor scenery and activities, my pets, my family, my food, art, simple things I found beautiful, and it was clear to see all the things I loved, because they were right there in front of me in brilliant color, picture, after picture, after picture.  But it didn’t take long before I noticed what was missing in all those pictures - me.  Well, I made a quick excuse, “I’m taking the pictures, so it only makes sense I’m behind the camera, not in front of it.  So, I went to my family and friend’s pages, scrolled through their pictures, and again I could clearly see all the things they loved and valued, but not one picture of me. Not one.  It broke my heart. It still hurts. This was about five years ago.

Before I go any further, the biggest culprit was me.  My family just followed the example I set for them. Because I have problem letting people touch me, my children never hug me, and they tell me it feels awkward when they do.  Who the hell feels awkward hugging their mother and telling her that you love her?  I’ve hugged and kissed my children since the day they were born, and told them I loved them as often as I could. I still do every chance I get.  But, they forget I even exist.  So, how does that happen?

I stopped waiting for someone else to love and value me and started to love and value myself.  I see women posting pictures every day, mostly of themselves in sexually suggestive positions, and it makes me sad.  It’s literally about 95% of the pictures I see. That’s their idea of beauty.  They are complimented my men and women alike and told how beautiful they are, so why should they believe any different?  Why should they act any different? That’s narcissism, posing to get attention, even if the attention is low, perverted, and disgraceful.  These women don’t understand that they’re not displaying their beauty, but their ignorance, allowing themselves to be demeaned as a woman, and viewed only as an object of perversion.  The admiration they receive now will fade once they get a little older; their bodies no longer have the same sexual draw, and then what? What will they have to offer their admirers since their admirers are only interested in their flesh.  But, a woman who smiles, laughs, is pictured living life, appreciating life, loving herself and the world around her are truly visions of beauty.  A woman caught in a moment of compassion, in a nurturing embrace, being a helpmate and friend, those are images of beauty.  Beauty is not her cup size, not in the shape of her boobs, lips, legs or ass, or in suggestive positions so perverted assholes can fantasize fucking her.  She then becomes only an object of their perversion and no longer a woman of beauty. Believe me; while the men appreciate the pictures, they have no respect for her as a woman. 

When I meet a man and start talking to him, if he asks me about my body, or asks me to send him pictures of myself in a bikini etc., then I instantly lose interest in them because it tells me they are not interested in my true beauty.  There are enough women with low self-esteem out there eager to please their narcissistic need for approval by ignorant assholes, but I’m not one of them.  Don’t get me wrong – when I’m in a relationship with ‘MY’ man, I love to be sexual, playful, flirty, etc., because I can share that part of myself with that man because he already recognized my true beauty.  But if I’m not in a relationship, don’t ask me for pictures of my body you fucking assholes! No, definitely ask me, so that way I know who you truly are and can write you off as anyone valuable in my life.

I post pictures of me smiling quite often because I love and value myself.  Those smiles are for me, to remind me that I matter.  This world can’t do that for me. Someone else can’t do that for me. I have to do it for myself.  I post pictures of the people and things that I love and value.  Someday someone else will post a picture of me, and it will truly be a picture of beauty.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Beautiful Soul... Shallow World

I’m not stupid. I know we live in a shallow, vain, subjective world.  We exist in a society that judges us based on our outer appearance, because most often that’s all we can see.  Image is everything.  We are presented an image by everyone we meet, and we present an image to everyone that crosses our path. I have a mask I wear depending on the situation and circumstances.  When I go to apply for a job, I want to present myself as qualified, acceptable, and capable of fulfilling the requirements of that position, so I dress the part and put on the appropriate mask.  When I am running a 5k, I don’t show up in heels and sporting a tiara, although that might be a hilarious run. While I maintain the true essence of my personality at work or play, I choose the image I want to portray.  I post pictures of what is important to me. I don’t post pictures of what I don’t think portrays the right image.  But we are so much more than the masks we wear or the images we choose to display. Yet, how often do we hurt each other because our small minds can’t move beyond the shallow, the vain, the image, or the mask?

Having two handicapped parents taught me at a very early age to see beyond the outward appearance, deeper than the disease, the defects, the imperfections to realize there’s a soul behind the eyes.  My father wasn’t just a blind man.  He was a human being; often times, a terrible, hateful, angry and evil human being, but human nonetheless.  My mother behind her MS was also a human being.  She was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s wife, someone’s mother, not just a woman whose body didn’t work anymore.  I can remember as a child holding my father’s glass eye in my hand and resenting it, because that seemed to be all the world could see, how they defined him, how they felt sorry for him and placated to his dysfunction, and he preyed on it, used it to cover his sins, to hide the black soul he carried. I hated the world because they couldn’t see him; all they saw was a blind man. I saw a devil. I saw the anger, the hate, the pervert, the conman, the hustler. The world pitied him, made excuses for him, but I saw his soul.  Behind my mother I saw a broken spirit, a dull soul that was gray it allowed her to turn a blind eye, sewed her mouth shut, and too weak to protect her children.  I learned to see souls very early in life.

Now, as a single woman in a vain world, every day I see the masks, wear the masks, and recognize the masks for what they are.  I am inundated with comments on my appearance, and they’re nice to receive. Who doesn’t want to be told they’re pretty, or their eyes are pretty, or their smile is pretty? It’s better than being told you’re hideous or dull.  But, can’t they see ME?  Do they know how strong I am, what I’ve accomplished in my life? How my soul that had been so damaged and abused has survived, thrived, and overcome in spite of the circumstances, the tragedies, and the hate?  Can’t they see the abundance of love, compassion, and hope that radiates from this broken vessel?  

I try so hard to see behind people’s masks when I meet them, get to know the human soul inside them, and decide if I want them in my life. There are MANY, many people I meet that I immediately close out and throw up a wall, defending myself, and keeping them out of my life, out of my company, out of my circle because I see glimpse the devil behind their masks. I don’t listen to what people say. I watch what people do, see how they treat others, take a glance at the trail behind them to see if their path is filled with destruction or love, and listen to my gut. The worst ones often have the sweetest words, prettiest faces, most beautiful bodies, and crocodile tears. They are often damsels in distress or victims of circumstances, but in reality they’re a black plague, the ones causing the strife and drama everywhere they go.  I don’t have time for all that.  But, I can also see sometimes an imperfect mask, a dysfunctional life, a broken appearance, but inside…. I have glimpse some souls so beautiful, so radiant, so amazing that I sometimes can’t hold back the emotion that wells inside me.  They’re often broken, a mess, judged by the world around them – but I see them, I see beyond who they even think they are and see them for who they have the potential to become, what they’re capable to achieve – not because of their looks, their education, their money, their status, their means… but because I know what kind of fight a survivor has, what kind of imagination stirs within a dreamer, what kind of drive resides inside an innovator, a strategist, a clever mind.  I know the power of compassion.  I know the strength of love.  

Fuck their world and their vanity. Fuck the shallow people who can love someone because of their imperfections.  I LOVE perfect imperfections. I LOVE scars and the stories behind them.  I LOVE watching people pick themselves up from the mistakes they’ve made.  I LOVE seeing souls radiate – they’re beautiful. 

I woke up this morning feeling beautiful and sexy.  I may not have my 20-year old body anymore (it’s now full of scars, marks, imperfections, jiggly thighs, and trace evidence of a life lived, mistakes made, and miracles), but the beautiful soul pulsating just beneath my skin is absolutely radiant. If anyone can’t see that when they look at me, they’re a blind idiot and don’t deserve to be in the same universe.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Distorted Image

Okay, here’s another one of those politically correct moments that really grate on my nerves and has inspired today’s blog post. I actually had an idea to post something positive and funny today, you know… ‘cause I was in that sort of mood. But I read an article and that got my thoughts spinning, and that was all well and good. But then I read the comments concerning the article and the floodgates of ‘ah hell’ have opened. So, this is sort of a rant. I apologize in advance, but I’m not sorry for what I’m about to say. I mean every word.

The article that started this whole thing can be found at this link: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/11477512/Schoolboys-should-tell-girls-their-idea-of-a-perfect-woman-says-expert.html.

The piece encourages young men to tell young women, especially during their formative and puberty-challenging years, what they find attractive from physical to personality traits in order to help the young women form a more realistic and healthy view of their own bodies. I found myself nodding my head several times while reading this article.

If you really think about it, the way a girl feels about herself and the level of her attractiveness is dictated by the society around her, all in the effort to attract the young men they interact with. It’s human nature. However, the definition of what ‘beauty’ consists of is portrayed by media and social forums, and most of them have really fucked up views of beauty. They lead many young women to feel bad about themselves due to unrealistic expectations and displays, everyday chipping away at the young women’s self-esteem because they can’t live up to that fantastical image, leading to unhealthy practices, eating disorders, mutilations, etc.

Every woman/girl wants to be attractive and beautiful. We want to be pleasing to the men in our lives, so we go to great lengths to try and fulfill what we think are the ideals of beauty and sexiness. What better way to really learn what is truly beautiful and sexy than directly from the men we are trying to please in the first place? It’s just a thought.

Wait.. I can already hear all the feminists reading this post screeching with.. .”I ain’t trying to please anybody but myself… and “another example of women being told to get our self-esteem from what men think of us. “… yeah, yeah… I know. I’m not disagreeing. I’m a feminist and the first person I try to please before anyone else is ME, including the men in my life. But, I’m also not lying to myself either and pretending I don’t want to look sexy and have my man drooling all over me. I’m a woman. I celebrate being a woman, and as a woman - I want my man to look at me not ONLY with respect and admiration, but lust and desire, and a raw sexual want and need. I want him to be at times unable to keep his hands off me. I want to make him growl wanting me, and grunt while having me, and groan when I’m gone. In all reality, that isn’t going to happen unless I’m attractive to him. So, the ‘smart’ thing to do is find out what he finds attractive and see if that is reasonable and applicable. Yet, the only sources young women have to try to discover this is found in our social media markets… magazines, television, public displays, etc. Hearing the truth from the source is always a better idea than a secondary source.

The other thing in these responses that really set me off was a comment, one I’ve heard a million times before so there’s no animosity toward this certain responder, is: “Though his idea of a girlfriend is that she has to have a model body but also intelligence. I keep telling him he's looking for a needle in a very big haystack.”

My response: “I really hate the idea that just because you might be beautiful you're more than likely stupid. Most beauty comes from confidence... and confidence comes from achievement... and achievement often comes from wisdom, knowledge and determination. What's wrong with someone hoping to find a partner that is not only pleasing to the eye but the mind also? It's phrases like "looking for a needle in a haystack" that encourages people to compromise on what they want and settle for what they think they can get, or doubt something because it comes in a beautiful package. I want beautiful AND smart.. because that's what I want, and I have no bones about saying it. I also think this professor has the right idea. I don't think all the males in the world are idiots either and all of them think their perfect woman is some brainless-model-sex-kitten. That's their sexual fantasy, but they love real women for different reasons, and I've learned its mostly confident women who are honest with them, nurture them, encourage them, and inspire them. I have a male sexual fantasy, Superman, but I wouldn't want to have a relationship with him.. or expect any real man to live up to that image. Nor do I expect any real man to truly expect any real woman to live up to their sexual fantasy. That's why it's called a fantasy. However, love will beat a fantasy any day.” I would like to add, “…but I’d do all I could to try and live up to his sexual fantasy, because it’d be fun and as a woman I naturally like to please people I love and care about. It pleases me to do it.”

But the whole issue comes down to honesty. There’s not enough of that in this world. We live behind our masks. We lie to the world around us. We listen to the lies around us. Mostly, we lie to ourselves. And in this politically correct world, we’re often too afraid to speak out in search of that truth in fear of being outcast. Deception is all we see. The disguises we wear are all we notice. And our young women continue to fight through these self-esteem issues with the lies they’re fed and bombarded with every day. It’s sad how many of them lose that fight and succumb to the peer-pressures and never truly discover the real beauty within them. I mostly feel for our young men who never get to get the opportunity to see that true beauty either, only the distorted image. This whole issue works just as well for men as women in reverse. But, hey… let’s not talk about it, ‘cause we might hurt someone’s feelings.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Beautiful Classic

Talking with a dear friend this morning, really about nothing significant, I somehow stumbled onto something that’s really been rolling around in my heart for a while. I just haven’t been able to put words to it yet, well… not until right now.

Those of you who read this blog on a regular basis (which I appreciate – and thanks again for the Leibster Nomination) know that I’m on an ever-changing emotional journey that has taken me to some really high points and very dark low points.  Sometimes those emotions can change in a heartbeat, because I’m now at a point where they’re all clashing together.  Old things are falling away, new things are showing up, and somewhere between we find the chaos that is my life.

Well, this conversation I mentioned above was a metaphor for the function and maintenance of a woman’s vagina… (yes, I have very interesting conversations, but that’s not the story I want to talk about at this particular moment) which turned to the topic of finding a good Mechanic.  (I can see some of you right now skimming down a few paragraphs to get back to this subject of a woman’s vagina… *shakes my head*… but stay with me here.)  The Mechanic in this metaphor, of course, is a good man - a man that fulfills not only a woman’s sexual needs, but takes care of her, takes pride in her, loves to show her off, loves to pamper her, loves to take her everywhere (even sometimes finding excuses to go just so they can be together), loves to take her for a spin and get her motor humming.  I could really go on and on and on, but I think you get the picture.  

Unfortunately, I’m finding there’s a huge shortage on good Mechanics, ones who don’t really appreciate the beauty and complexity of a good, well-made engine and the sleek style of a classic body.  They’re into simplicity, easy, fast, economical, compact, and often the latest model that just rolled onto the showcase floor.  They drool in their excitement and their fingers itch to press those start buttons and listen to her young engine come to life.  But, a good mechanic knows that there are lot a bugs that have to be worked out of a new engine… it’s not been tested… it’s neither weathered the storms nor found its stride.  It most often doesn’t even yet have a purpose… driven recklessly by some young inexperienced yelp out for a thrill… often crashing her, damaging her, or completely destroying her.  They don’t understand – the simplicity requires no imagination and effort, which leads to a lack of appreciation.  They get bored and ready to move on because the thrill has run out.  So, they go from model to model… never being satisfied, because they’re not being fully stimulated.

But the beautiful classic… ah… the sound of her engine is strong.  Her body may not be new, have a few patches here and there, but it’s solid, it’s sleek, and it’s still beautiful as hell.  She’s got moves.  She’s got curves.  There’s a confidence in a classic… knowing she’s been through it already and made it… she can do it again.  A good mechanic knows that a beautiful classic, if well-maintenance on a regular basis, won’t need much more than a regular tune-up and a steady coat of wax, because she’s already got a purpose and her kinks had been ironed out years before.  She’s got style and grace and a beauty that never fades.  She’s complicated, but something a good Mechanic appreciates, adores, loves and respects.  He knows her intimately… all her parts and how they work together.

So, this classic beauty would love to find a good, smart, wise Mechanic.  Let the boys have the little plastic hotrods… and let the real men dare to try and bridle the pure power of a classic. It’ll be the ride of their lives.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Change Your Glasses; Change Your World

One of the best motivational books I ever read was "Battlefield of the Mind" by Joyce Meyer. While it's based on Christian fundamentals (which I don't understand when or how those fundamentals have become so wrong - some Christians and their interpretations maybe... but the teachings and fundamentals are sound - in my opinion) it started a change in my life, because I started to see how I thought about how my thoughts affected my reactions to things, and how things changed or didn't change in my life because of how I thought about them.

This book is filled with wonderful philosophical quotes that sometimes I'd have to meditate on for months because I really wanted to soak them into my very being.  Here are a few of my Joyce Meyer favorites:

“You cannot have a positive life and a negative mind.”

“Our past may explain why we're suffering but we must not use it as an excuse to stay in bondage.”

 “Asking for something is easy… being responsible for it is the part that develops character.”

 “Patience is not the ability to wait but the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting.”


These are some hard truths,  yet simplistic in their nature.

My biggest achievements have come when I've changed my glasses.  What I mean by that is  - things have changed in my life when I've changed my perception of the world.  I was angry and hurt for so long, all I saw was anger and hurt, the ugliness of life and society, the cracks in the window.  I failed to see the beauty outside the frame.  This reminds me of a phrase in a Jack Johnson song, "Breakdown".  (You can't stop nothin' if you've got no control of the thoughts of your mind that you keep in, you know.  You don't know nothin' that you don't need to know;  the wisdom's in the trees not the glass windows.) But, once I learned to breathe, my vision changed and my focus moved from the cracked glass to the beauty around me. 

I can't fully express, and I'm a writer, how that has changed my life.  Yes, there are still cracked window panes in my life and I'm not ignoring them or pretending they're not there.  But, I'm replacing those windows and spending much more time looking out beyond the frame.  One positive thought at a time, one idea of hope, one mustard seed of faith at a time is changing my life, changing my view, changing my world.  While not all will agree with me, especially those in my past who I've made a change to leave behind, I define these changes as progress.

What about you?

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Beauty Defined

Everyone has their own interpretation and definition of beauty.  To some, it's an outward appearance, often set to impossible or narrowed standards, but to others they see beauty in everything, even within the ugliness of humanity.  For me, I hope to be somewhere in the medium, but find and feel I'm in an uncharted definition, being odd and seeing the world from a different perspective.

I believe we all have our own pair of rose-colored glasses, where our perceptions are skewed and enhanced by our experiences, or lack thereof, combined with an individual spin.  I suspect that even if we all had the exact same experiences, we'd still have different perspectives. Who we are, what we value, how we process, and what drives us twists the kaleidoscope of our perception.  That's why we shouldn't judge each other, yet it's our human nature to apply our combination and understanding on those around us.

So, while I can give you the Webster's dictionary for beauty, I cannot proclaim an absolute interpretation that would fit all of society.  I can only elaborate what beauty is to me.

I consider myself lucky because I see beauty all around me - in nature, in society, in people and in hope.  I mostly see beauty in a smile.  I've never felt inferior to anyone, but there have been times in my life I've felt ugly because I didn't physically live up to the general population's standards.  When I was very heavy I became invisible as a person - it's like people are programmed to ignore what they consider ugly.  Doors stopped being opened to me, smiles and friendly greetings passed me by, I wasn't chosen first in a group, often received sympathetic or apathetic looks and comments, and judgments came more readily.  I didn't start out 'fat and ugly' - in fact, I grew up popular and pretty, very active, very social and very attractive.  I was often the life of a party, a natural leader, and people gravitated toward me, never knowing the ugly horror I had to contend with at home.  It was a hard transition being treated differently because I didn't fit the popular mold of what was considered beautiful.  I also learned when you don't feel beautiful, it is reflected in everything you do.

It took me a long time, I had a lot of internal healing to do, before I learned to love myself and define what beauty is - for me.  I don't care what society deems beautiful - society has no power to dictate to me what I feel or think anymore.  The more I learned to love and care for myself, the less power it had over me, the happier I've become.

Beauty to me is happiness.  Happy moments are beautiful moments whether it's in a moment of intimate touch between lovers or a relaxing walk through the woods.  It's in a kiss, in a laugh, in a smile, in an achievement, in a hug, in a word of encouragement, in a moment of accomplishment, in a joke, in a memory that brings a smile, in a dance, in meeting a goal, in a show of support, or in a gift.  People who share those moments in their lives with me I find absolutely beautiful and their physical appearance makes no difference to me.  People who are happy, who look forward to living life, who see the good (even in a bad situation), who inspired one another, encourage one another, push one another, not afraid to confront the ugliness in their lives, are absolutely beautiful to me.  I'm blessed to know some beautiful people.

Today, I'm beautiful... because I'm happy.  I have a spring in my step, a song on my heart, and a sense of being loved, valued and honored.  It's really easy to make me feel happy - just let me know you love me, care about me, or that I matter - and watch how magically my worries fall off me. My needs are still there, but my fear evaporates in the face of them.  I'm learning to encourage myself more and more everyday and place my rose-colored glasses on my own face.  I still need a little help every now and again, but I'm getting stronger all the time, and I'm noticing doors are once again being opened for me, I am met with pleasant smiles, I'm invited to join in, and I am complimented often on how pretty or beautiful I am.  No, I don't look like a supermodel, and would probably not be considered beautiful by the general population's standards - but it's doesn't matter, because I believe I'm beautiful and that's the only opinion that really matters. 

Watch this video below - because I find the woman in it the ultimate picture of beauty.  Her smile is infectious, her moves are sexy, her joy is desirable and the song's not bad either.  That Old Pair of Jeans by Fat Boy Slim



How do you define beauty?

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Beauty for Ashes

As I greet the morning, sipping on a warm cup of coffee, body relaxing after a great workout, I walk to the lake behind my house to enjoy a beautiful scene.  I think about those I love, those I miss, and catch a small vaporous thought of those who have faded from my life.  My focus narrows and I center on the new phase.  I think I’m learning to view and experience the world around me with a different set of eyes.  Well, that’s not true.  I don’t have a different set of eyes, only a different way of seeing.  Well, how I use those eyes are not new either, only that I’m starting to understand the difference between seeing and truly seeing.

All my life I’ve viewed the world in such a way, I’d sometimes wonder if maybe I’d been given a different set of eyes than those around me.  I find beauty in mundane things that most people don’t even give a second thought, and most often what is praised by the masses leaves me scratching my head.  I can see a tree in the middle of a forest and weep at its vibrancy in the face of insignificance.  My heart grows heavy at the sight of a rusty tricycle, long forgotten and neglected, shining in the sun, casting a brilliance that is almost blinding.  It brings back glimpses of happy childhood memories, those often clouded by darker moments. I see the vibrant colors of flowers, leaves, grass, water, sky and earth.  I notice the things out of place more often than the things spotlighted.  I can spend several minutes wrapped in the peace of nature watching an ant climb the limb of a tree, or listening to the wind rustle the leaves, or smelling the scent of a beautiful flower, or running my fingers over the dew-kissed grass, and feel so connected, yet so lost at the same time.

I view people differently too.  No matter the outside appearance, whether wrapped in attractive skin or gross deformity, it is the soul of a person that radiates their beauty or ugliness.  In my youth, appearance was important to me and I spent a lot of time focused on what I found visually appealing.  Though these beautiful people got to share part of me, claim to be my friend, claimed a few stolen kiss, and shared in many of my gifts and talents, there were always one or two friends who shared my heart – but only on very, very, very rare occasions.  I was an expert and hiding my heart.

Today, after a life of heartbreak and love, I find I’m attracted to aspects of beauty that can’t often be seen with the naked eye.  It’s sometimes found in a kind word, a moment of appreciation, a stirring of hope, reaching for a dream, or a spot of comfort, or a word of rebuke.  Sometimes it’s in a kiss, a pair of hazel eyes, a touch, a glance, or a simple word of affection. 

We can choose to see the beauty or the ugliness in everything… in our situations, in our dreams, in our daily lifestyles, in our jobs, in our friends and families, in our neighbors, in our government, in our gods … in everything.  I still see ugliness, but I will admit I’m beginning to see more and more beauty all the time.

What do you see?

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray