Beauty is skin deep, but confidence penetrates to the heart.
It’s been a while since I last wrote a post. A lot has happened in my life lately, but that’s for another time.
The purpose of my posts centres around the dynamics of confidence and society’s unfettered obsession with appearance and beauty, largely because the same dynamics affected me as a child right up until three years ago, in 2014, when I announced the end of a depression that lasted for over 25 years of my life with almost near-fatal parameters.
My daughter had her ballet recital early June. She had to do five sessions over a three-day period. For a five-year-old, that’s no easy feat. But she did it nonetheless and I’m extraordinarily proud of her.
During the routine, one thing of note was the smiles seemingly frozen on the faces of the ballet dancers in particular. They’re taught to smile to the audience regardless of personal circumstances, creating a ruse of plausible contentment and confidence on the surface.
We were told halfway through the recital that my daughter was selected to present flowers to one of her teachers, and unbeknownst to us she was also to be given a medal for outstanding potential. Me and the missus were floored but incredibly honoured.
On her last show, the closing ceremony was underway and my daughter went on stage to present the flowers. I waited backstage and paced back and forth like any nervous parent would do, accolades being received notwithstanding.
While I was waiting I saw one of the dancers walk by. She had a smile on her face, but she seemed nervous. It got me thinking. We expect people who perform in public to constantly maintain a happy, smiley demeanour. But underneath it all, are they really?
On the surface she looked lavishly beautiful, broadcasting an air of confidence that only few could ever imagine to have. Yet I got thinking about how her internal sentiments must have been acting. She could have been extraordinarily nervous, or suffering through a well-hidden anxiety attack waiting to happen but kept it concealed pretty well.
What we broadcast on the surface is and can be completely different from what’s underneath. We only need to look at Robin Williams as an example of someone who practices contentment and happiness on their face but does not dare let the internal quagmire reveal itself in any fashion or form. And that’s sad.
A lot of people tend to focus too much on what’s visually beautiful rather than the whole picture. People with confidence will tell you that beauty is only skin deep, but confidence goes straight to the heart.
Beauty aids do help, absolutely, but we have to live with what’s underneath. If you aren’t happy with what you see in the mirror before the mascara or blush is applied, then how can you dare to feel comfortable with knowing you’re essentially displaying a façade of fake beauty?
A person’s true beauty goes beyond what’s on their face. It has to resonate in the heart and work itself outward.
That, my friends, is the best kind of beauty.
à la prochaine!