I was not beautiful yesterday.
The sullen face staring back at me from the mirror was ruddy, puffy, and jowly.
My arms were too fleshy, my thighs too bumpy, and my stomach was altogether too domed.
Despite the fact that the camera got fixed, there were no selfies yesterday.
Though I had plenty of time in the long, lazy morning, I couldn’t get up the energy to put on mascara or blow dry my hair.
I pushed past all the stylish, flattering clothing in my closet and emerged with a t-shirt and shapeless gray jacket.
Yet, I strolled in the sun yesterday.
I walked through the woods with my dog and my daughter.
I did yoga in the dappled semi-light under an arching tree.
I wrote well yesterday; an honest introspection about my body and my response to pain.
I sat on a welcoming rock yesterday and heard birds calling through the trees and it was GOOD.
I spoke on the phone yesterday to the man who loves me. The man who looks at me and always seems to think I’m beautiful. The conversation was thick with meaning, rich with intimacy, and woven with laughter.
I cooked and enjoyed a satisfying, delicious, and body-loving kind of meal yesterday: a rainbow on my plate of acorn squash, crisp sauteed green beans, roasted corn and bean salad, quinoa and lentil medley, and baked chicken breast.
So I was not beautiful yesterday but, O, I was joyful.
And a most pleasant surprise happened this morning….
Walking past my bathroom mirror, clad in fuzzy pink bathroom, hair not yet brushed, sleep still imprinted on my face, I saw me again.
There I was, beautiful.