You Were Not Meant to be Pretty… My Kind of Beautiful
The words of Suzanne Rivard. Fortunately, my mother made it abundantly clear that “pretty” was genetics and luck, but smart, aggressive, determined women were always beautiful.
In my childhood, Mommy declared that I look best with messy hair. As a child, it drove me crazy, but I understand now that she expressed it as a metaphor for my personality. Through her lens, I see myself more clearly-a portrait in motion, blurred in frame, captured mid-step. I am not now, nor have I ever been at my best when posed.
I am the Guardian.
Moreover, I am at my best on the sidelines. I see. I am watch. I am the guardian. I take life in and process it fully, before parsing it out in pieces. All of this discernment explains so much, including my fascination with the minor keys and the minor characters. I didn’t understand it then, but evolution.
I have always liked being smart. I have always appreciated being a tomboy, being unconstrained by feminine behavior, high heels, tight skirts, etc., I can be that person, but I can also be in the weeds, engaged, at eye level. I don’t do pedestals, and if I have to ask twice for anything, I’m doing it myself.
THIS DOES NOT MEAN I DON’T NEED A MAN.
This means that the right man enhances me, and I him. I don’t need anyone to be whole. If I cannot stand alone, I hobble anyone relying on me. I’m no stone around anyone’s neck. I am my own diamond.
Chelle A Wilson 