Beauty is as relative as light and dark. Thus, there exists no beautiful woman, none at all, because you are never certain that a still far more beautiful woman will not appear and completely shame the supposed beauty of the first.

Paul Klee

Relativism - the doctrine that truths exist in relation to culture, society, or historical context, and are not absolute.

Perspective - a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view.

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As I read the above quote from German artist Paul Klee, I believed it to be one of the most foolish statements ever published. And yet, without realizing it, his distorted views mirrored my own. I fail to see the possibility of my “beauty” because the physical attributes of others consistently put mine to shame. And therefore, in me, there existed no beauty, none at all. But we are not human cut-outs of the same mold, and beauty is intrinsic; it’s not to be sorted and ranked.  

To say that beauty must be measurable to exist is idiotic. Chaunté’s clear and natural beauty could never war with Mary Ann’s, which is rich and earthy. Liz’s beauty is bright and youthful, while Anie carries an ancient beauty that is striking and mysterious. Although different in look, Cassidy and Julie have beauties that are soft, almost angelic, unassuming, and effortless. Unlike Samantha’s, which is luminous and mischievous. They cannot (and should not) be compared – yet they ARE beautiful! No matter who else may happen to “appear.”

This is my relative truth, my perspective, my view on a few of the beautiful women in my life. It wouldn’t change if we were the only two people in the room or if it were filled with supermodels. Their beauty belongs to them and them alone. So, why do I feel the need to measure my possible beauty against others? Why must I make an absolute declaration that I am not beautiful and force everyone to swallow it as truth? And why is it so difficult to accept that someone else may have an opposing perspective? Well … because, in reality, I’m just as big an idiot as Paul Klee; only worse because I’m also a hypocrite.

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Many years ago, I had a friend named Luke. He was one of a kind, and I loved him beyond measure. Though our time together was cut unfortunately short, our connection was paramount. We met on the first day of class in culinary school. As we all stood outside on break, he walked up to me and started talking for no apparent reason. The man just stood there telling me his entire life story. I spent most of our very one-sided conversation wondering why this fine man was standing so close and sharing all of this private information with me. He kept talking and asking me questions until it was time to go back into the kitchen. That was the beginning of our friendship.

Months later, on a warm Autumn night, our circle of friends took a walk to Point State Park. Luke and I broke from the group to stroll along the three rivers. I can’t remember what he was saying, but he brought up the first day we met. Jarring my memory, I interrupted him and said,
            “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
            “Ask me what?”
            “Why did you talk to me that day? There were so many people standing around, and you just walked right up to me. Why?
            “Oh, because you were the prettiest girl in class.” He said this so flippantly as if it should have been obvious. But this was NOT an acceptable answer! Luke and I never kept secrets, and we were always honest with one another. I didn’t understand why he would say this.

            “I’m serious!” I was frustrated and offended.
            “Huh?”
            “Luke, what’s the real reason.”
He looked extremely confused, “That is the real reason. Why else would I have walked up to a total stranger and started talking?”

We walked in silence for a short while.
            “You really don’t know that you’re beautiful?” he asked.
            “Yea, I really don’t want to have this conversation.”
            “It’s too late for that; we’re already having it.”

I was holding back tears. My alleged “beauty” was not a subject that I ever wanted to discuss. It certainly wasn’t something I wanted close friends to joke about.
            “Tell me the truth… is that really the reason?”
            “I would never lie to you. If you want, you can ask the other guys in class.”
            “No, No! That’s okay … [long pause] … “Thank you for thinking I was pretty.”
            “I still do.”

*Sidenote: Twenty years later, this is still one of the most precious moments of my life.

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Mirrors are interesting things. We use them to view ourselves but often bury the reflected image with murky and twisted perspectives. No matter how hard I stared at that woman in the mirror, I never could see what Luke saw – and I tried. But I realize that Chaunté, Mary Ann, Liz, Cassidy, Julie, Samantha, and Anie may look at their reflections and miss all that I behold. I’m beginning to understand that I don’t have to view myself as Luke, but I do need to honor and accept that, according to his perspective and relative truth, I’m beautiful.

My perspective will always be murky and twisted if I refuse to allow the world around me to shape it. So now, when I look in the mirror, I can smile and think Luke thought I was beautiful – not just beautiful – the most beautiful woman in that whole room! I’m NEVER going to feel that I’m the most beautiful woman in ANY room. However, as I sit at this desk, staring at my reflection, attempting to regard my image with a clearer perspective, I can say with absolute certainty that I am THE most beautiful woman in this mirror! [Smile]