I hate magazines. I once read some terrible statistic that the average person will only read 300 books in their entire life. That’s all. If that’s the truth, I’m already well on my way to being “average,” and magazines only propel this inclination.
I stopped buying beauty magazines several years ago because they made me focus on feeling like I was fat and flawed. Plus, they make such outrageous claims: “258 sex secrets he wants you to know.” Really? Since last month? Because I’m pretty sure that was the exact same headline in April. But what do I know? Maybe Ms. Marie Claire really is that productive.
This is one of my favorite videos. It is such an eye-opener to the sad truth that our view of beauty truly is distorted.
Who decides what women are supposed to look like? I mean, really, who makes that ruling? It baffles me. “Perfection” is a mirage, an unattainable goal. And I am tired of chasing after the impossible. I’m so over it.
With my friend Karen’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer this week, I am painfully reminded of the truth that life is about so much more than what magazines tell us that it should be. I have spent my entire life wishing that I was different – that I was prettier, smarter, wittier, more talented. I don’t want to dwell in the damaging place that our culture tells us that we need to live: constantly trying to look better, weigh less, accumulate more. It is so destructive and unhealthy to buy into the world’s version of “success.”
We were made for so much more. And we are not promised anything beyond today, this very moment. So love the people around you. Wring every last drop of life out of each day. Pour yourself out for others. And really: love your body. Be good to it. Be kind to it. You are beautiful, and remarkable, and altogether fantastic.
That’s what I think, anyway.