Walking in Beauty

Yesterday's word was destitute...  Here's the problem with that. Someone guessed it... well, maybe 2 someones... but the first guesser came up as anonymous.... so, I have no clue and no means of verifying who you are. So if you want to remain anonymous I think you should e-mail me and let me know who you are... if not-- comment and tell me! This is especially confusing because the people who most often guess did guess- under their own names.... *confused*

Also I'm pondering a retro-active rule change... in that if someone guesses they get 1 point... and if they get it right they get 2 points and if they are the first to get it right they get 3... what do you guys think? I'll be blown out of the point-water pretty fast with this method, but it will be less discouraging for those who guess and guess and keep getting it wrong. *coughRhondacough*

Anyway, moving on.

I took a nap this evening, and I dreamt of several things... One of them strangely enough was my favorite poem. Then I searched my blog and realized I've blogged about a lot of poems, but never my favorite one.

My favorite poem is She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron.

It has been since my senior year in high school, when we had to memorize and recite a poem for College Prep English. I choose this one, because I read it once and immediately fell in love with it. I still know it by heart.

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

 
Like all of my favorite things, I want this poem to be about me... I may live my life so as to try and be as much like this poem as I possibly can. One interesting aspect, which might not be true but makes me like the poem all the more, is that it's said Byron wrote it about a cousin who was in mourning.

I've been in mourning before! See, this poem is totally about me. *nods decisively*

I can't decide if it's nature or nuture that makes girls/women want to be thought beautiful, but it seems to come from somewhere deep deep inside. And I think it's rather interesting that yes, I want to *be* beautiful, but the thing that is more important to me is that I'm *thought to be* beautiful. I've mentioned several times that Nathan telling me I'm beautiful is one of the things I miss the most... and it's also one of the things that has most strongly affected my life/self-esteem.

Men/ boys don't seem to have this same desire/need/longing. Yes, they want to be thought attractive... but they also seem to be a lot more confident that they just are attractive... or that it doesn't matter. Or am I wrong? Do men want to be handsome just as much as women?

See, even writing that, the thought seems ridiculous.

How silly is it that I want to be thought highly of in a context that I have so little control over? I mean I can control how much makeup I wear, but studies show that men actually normally prefer women with less makeup/makeup that looks natural. I can control the color and style of my hair (and boy, howdy, do I!) I can control what I wear and choose the best styles for my body type, and I can control my weight, to some extent. But I've been thinking lately that people don't normally look at your body that closely I mean, I think of all the people I see in a day and I look at their faces and generally have an idea of their body, but I don't pay that much attention.... though that might just be because I'm a girl? Not sure on that one.

Anyway, (barring expensive and painful surgery) I can't control the shape of my face, or it's symmetry, or the color of my eyes, or the height of my cheekbones. I can't control the upturn of my nose or the size of my lips or any of their placement.

And yet it matters to me that other people find them pleasing.  But then I wonder... is it just that? Is that really all I want? To be thought physically attractive?

And it's not... not really. It's *part* of it, but what I want is so hard to pin down and so hard to find/ know. Because what I want is what Lord Byron is saying in that poem. I want a beauty that is internal but somehow expresses itself in my face and body. I want to be such a beautiful person that somehow people can see that just by looking at me.

I want to be so beautiful that men are driven to write poetry about me. I want to be so beautiful that people like me without quite understanding why. I want to be so beautiful that people still like me after they get to know me. I want to be so beautiful that the more a person gets to know me the more they like me and the more beautiful they find me and on and on until the people who know me the best are also the ones who totally adore me and think I am the most beautiful creature to grace the Earth.

Why is it that I'd only ever want to be called a creature when beautiful is before it? I think it's because when you are called a creature it sounds as though you are less than human, but when you are called a beautiful creature it's as though you are transcending humanity. Your beauty takes you to a level higher than human.

Yes, it's all a very attainable and easy goal.

How does one become a mentee of both Audry Hepburn and Mother Theresa?

Mentee? That's a weird word. But it is a word- I just looked it up, to be sure. Apparently we just pulled that word from mentor... but that suggests all sorts of weird words using that same rule. Like the audience is really of bunch of actees... and if you ever hire a contractor you will be a contractee. Melissa sees not patients, but counselees, and people who are fooled by charlatans are impostees.

It's prediculous!

Plus, it looks like manatee... I don't wanna be no stinking manatee!

I'd like to rephrase my previous sentence:

How does one become a mentee protege of both Audry Hepburn and Mother Theresa?

Yeah, I could have just gone back and edited the original sentence, but then you would have missed my little rant and I found it kinda funny, so I thought you might enjoy it.