I imagine three different versions of myself as there were so many in all my years of growth; One very young, impressionable and defined by my surroundings. Another slightly matured, humbled and perhaps a bit stronger but in completely different ways. Lastly, and hopefully many years from now, old, wise and blissfully content with every decision I've ever made.
Each one is asked to define beauty...
The youthful impressionable me would have probably described a thin girl with long straight blonde hair wearing every bit of expensive clothing I could never afford. Not that that wasn't in fact beautiful, but it was never going to be attainable for me.
As I was, and still remain, not an inch taller than 5'2. I constantly ironed my black and impossibly curly hair straight and attempted every effort to starve myself to see a space between my thighs.
I never saw it.
Years later when asked; "What does beautiful look like?"
I would answer... someone who is healthy, strong in their beliefs, confident in their skin, and let's not forget funny as I firmly believe you can see those traits written on someone's face. Notice the absence of tangible physical traits. I suppose those can only add meaning once you know what you're really looking for.
I look forward to knowing what the old and wise me will say.
What will she define as beautiful?
Maybe it will be a landscape or a grandchild's face or an old friends white hair. Beauty, I'm sure, can not truly be defined. It can not be boxed in or catalogued. It will forever shape shift. I assume we can only be so lucky to catch a glimpse as it passed by.