Beauty becomes her–again

beauty

The Master Shift

by Stephanie Rochelle Redd
There are a lot of beautiful women in this world, especially in Hawai’i, where I live. Yesterday, I went to the beach and as one can imagine – on a beach, in Hawai’i – there was a sea of beautiful women, as far as my eye could see. I saw beautiful women of all ages, hues, and shapes.
     As I sat and saw the beautiful women that danced and pranced in the spirit of Aloha before me, I also saw among them a beautiful friend that I had recently made, dancing and prancing in Aloha and all her glory. I continued to sit, admiring her beautiful spirit from afar.
      A part of me wanted to join her and also revel in the Aloha that filled the air, yet there was a larger part of me that did not. You see, I’m not what you call a “joiner”. I have personality traits, astrological configurations, habits, and hang-ups that make it so.
     On top of all of this, I was comfortable–in my beach chair, at least. I was not, however, wholly comfortable within myself. It’s a trip to be able to behold all the beauty that surrounds you and not count yourself among it. That’s what I did though; I had counted myself out of being one of the ‘beautiful ones’.
     Now, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m beautiful. (Sorry, Sammy Kershaw.) I look in the mirror on more occasions than I’m willing to admit here and declare a big ol’ “Damn, Girl! You look good!” Hey, some days, I just got it like that.
      And then there are days when I’m at a beach…in Hawai’i…surrounded by a sea of beautiful women, wherein if I do make one of my dynamic declarations of personal beauty earlier in the day, my dynamism seems to wane somewhere along the way. Alas, this is where I found myself yesterday. That is, until my aforementioned friend found me and pulled me out of my less-than-dynamic stupor.
     “You’re beautiful,” she announced without any prodding or provocation. “You really are, you need to know that.”
     I smiled and exhaled deeply.
     “Thank you for saying that,” I said, without an ounce of shame.
     “Would you like to dance?” she then asked. Her tender invitation was in great contrast to the thunderous sound of live drumming nearby.
      “I would actually,” I replied, taking her invitation and her hand as she led the way to where the beautiful – and brave – ones danced and pranced against the backdrop of a postcard-perfect scene.
     There, amidst the beauty that only seconds earlier I had been a spectator of, I had become an active participant. I was beautiful and I knew it, and I reveled in it among the beauty of others. And all it took was a friendly and gentle invitation to remember the beauty I had always possessed.
     Would you like to dance, Beautiful?