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08-06-2015, 09:00 PM
At 26 years old, I am a bit like that Britney Spears song: You know, the one that goes, I'm not a girl, not yet a woman, and so on. I know, logically, 26 is not a supremely old age. But in my spare time I like to knit, bake, and listen to Stevie Nicks. I am an old soul. I feel old, but I am not old. And sometimes what we feel begins to define us, for better or for worse.
One of the primary reasons I feel older than my age is because of the sheer volume of life lessons that have been packed into my 26 years like oversized sardines. A 13-year-long battle with an eating disorder has forced me to face things that most young adults should not have to. It has also led me to see a new concept of life and of myself through a fresh set of eyes -- one that finds beauty in things unrelated to aesthetics, like resilience and kindness, and shares great empathy with anyone fighting any type of personal war.
But beauty, unlike age, cannot be measured numerically. Humans are hard-wired to respond to physical beauty and symmetry for the sake of survival, but real beauty, the kind that doesn't fade, is something that must be felt.
Years ago, I remember a priest telling me that when he met Mother Teresa, he was stunned by how physically unattractive she was, and yet, how beautiful she was. I did not understand then. Now, I am starting to get it. Now, I am beginning to believe it.
For most of my life, I have judged myself based purely on the physical. Every accomplishment felt short-lived, because I would think something like, Well, that's great you won this, or aced that, but you could still be taller and you could still be thinner, so slow down, Sister. Comparison, in the words of Theodore Roosevelt, is truly the thief of all joy, particularly when it is related to something beyond our control.
In the past couple of years, however, I have begun to try and pull myself out of the mirror. By not allowing myself to be fully consumed in my own reflection, it has forced me to construct an image of myself without even considering physical beauty, or, depending on the day, what I might see as a lackthereof. Because one day I will, God willing, grow old and wrinkly and then what? Will I just stop living life because I have nothing more to offer the world through my long eyelashes or platinum blonde locks? It would be pathetic and sad to throw down my cards only to look back upon the prime of my life and see it as a blur of self-absorption.
I have started to create and find beauty through actions; some very simple, and some more involved. Having worked in fashion, I have encountered some of the very people our society considers the most beautiful on account of looks alone. After meeting them, did I find that my life had been perpetually enriched by simply looking at them? For the most part, not really. But then there was the woman who saw me struggling, trying to haul a very large (read: 7 feet tall) bulletin board home (in 6-inch heels, no less) to my apartment, and stopped to help me carry it, just because. Or the elderly man in Chinatown, who saw me get caught in a torrential downpour, and rushed over to share his umbrella while I hailed a taxi (Note to self: carry an umbrella). Or Nurse Shannon, who took care of me during a hospitalization going above and beyond the call of duty, and is to this day one of the kindest people I have ever met. Each of these people could have had 8 heads and green skin (for the record, they didn't), and I would still cherish their interactions just as much. I will never forget their kind gestures, and it does not matter what they look like as they are people I find beautiful on account of their heartfelt actions alone.
This realization inspired me to pay it forward. So I began volunteering, mentoring, and bringing more random acts of kindness into my everyday practice. Larger scale projects I have taken on require more time and commitment, but smaller things like holding doors, helping an elderly woman across the street, leaving cheesy but cheerful post-its in public places, and sending snail mail, are so simple. And yet it is the very habit of these actions that has given me the greatest breakthrough: by searching for the good in others, I have been able to recognize it in myself and be much more forgiving of my own mistakes and shortcomings. I was raised this way, and now I am beginning to claim it as my own. I feel the most beautiful when I am helping others, and as I write this I have a chia seed stuck in my front tooth and red lipstick smeared on my chin. For once, measuring up to this type of beauty has nothing to do with my reflection in the mirror.
But of course, it's not a perfect process. I live in New York, which is not exactly the "Kumbaya" capital of the world. Like any other 20-something, I still have my hang-ups. Recently I was having a conversation with a very dear friend of mine, and she told me something that really stuck with me. "Christina," she said. "Looks, weight, it all fades. It's all meaningless. It isn't what your life should be about. You are more than that."
Youth, beauty, symmetry, it's all very lovely. But it's transient. I want to be more than that. Because, it's nice to be beautiful, but it's more beautiful to be nice. Truth. -- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. (http://start.westnet.ca/newstempch.php?article=terms.html/) It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
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One of the primary reasons I feel older than my age is because of the sheer volume of life lessons that have been packed into my 26 years like oversized sardines. A 13-year-long battle with an eating disorder has forced me to face things that most young adults should not have to. It has also led me to see a new concept of life and of myself through a fresh set of eyes -- one that finds beauty in things unrelated to aesthetics, like resilience and kindness, and shares great empathy with anyone fighting any type of personal war.
But beauty, unlike age, cannot be measured numerically. Humans are hard-wired to respond to physical beauty and symmetry for the sake of survival, but real beauty, the kind that doesn't fade, is something that must be felt.
Years ago, I remember a priest telling me that when he met Mother Teresa, he was stunned by how physically unattractive she was, and yet, how beautiful she was. I did not understand then. Now, I am starting to get it. Now, I am beginning to believe it.
For most of my life, I have judged myself based purely on the physical. Every accomplishment felt short-lived, because I would think something like, Well, that's great you won this, or aced that, but you could still be taller and you could still be thinner, so slow down, Sister. Comparison, in the words of Theodore Roosevelt, is truly the thief of all joy, particularly when it is related to something beyond our control.
In the past couple of years, however, I have begun to try and pull myself out of the mirror. By not allowing myself to be fully consumed in my own reflection, it has forced me to construct an image of myself without even considering physical beauty, or, depending on the day, what I might see as a lackthereof. Because one day I will, God willing, grow old and wrinkly and then what? Will I just stop living life because I have nothing more to offer the world through my long eyelashes or platinum blonde locks? It would be pathetic and sad to throw down my cards only to look back upon the prime of my life and see it as a blur of self-absorption.
I have started to create and find beauty through actions; some very simple, and some more involved. Having worked in fashion, I have encountered some of the very people our society considers the most beautiful on account of looks alone. After meeting them, did I find that my life had been perpetually enriched by simply looking at them? For the most part, not really. But then there was the woman who saw me struggling, trying to haul a very large (read: 7 feet tall) bulletin board home (in 6-inch heels, no less) to my apartment, and stopped to help me carry it, just because. Or the elderly man in Chinatown, who saw me get caught in a torrential downpour, and rushed over to share his umbrella while I hailed a taxi (Note to self: carry an umbrella). Or Nurse Shannon, who took care of me during a hospitalization going above and beyond the call of duty, and is to this day one of the kindest people I have ever met. Each of these people could have had 8 heads and green skin (for the record, they didn't), and I would still cherish their interactions just as much. I will never forget their kind gestures, and it does not matter what they look like as they are people I find beautiful on account of their heartfelt actions alone.
This realization inspired me to pay it forward. So I began volunteering, mentoring, and bringing more random acts of kindness into my everyday practice. Larger scale projects I have taken on require more time and commitment, but smaller things like holding doors, helping an elderly woman across the street, leaving cheesy but cheerful post-its in public places, and sending snail mail, are so simple. And yet it is the very habit of these actions that has given me the greatest breakthrough: by searching for the good in others, I have been able to recognize it in myself and be much more forgiving of my own mistakes and shortcomings. I was raised this way, and now I am beginning to claim it as my own. I feel the most beautiful when I am helping others, and as I write this I have a chia seed stuck in my front tooth and red lipstick smeared on my chin. For once, measuring up to this type of beauty has nothing to do with my reflection in the mirror.
But of course, it's not a perfect process. I live in New York, which is not exactly the "Kumbaya" capital of the world. Like any other 20-something, I still have my hang-ups. Recently I was having a conversation with a very dear friend of mine, and she told me something that really stuck with me. "Christina," she said. "Looks, weight, it all fades. It's all meaningless. It isn't what your life should be about. You are more than that."
Youth, beauty, symmetry, it's all very lovely. But it's transient. I want to be more than that. Because, it's nice to be beautiful, but it's more beautiful to be nice. Truth. -- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. (http://start.westnet.ca/newstempch.php?article=terms.html/) It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
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