Define “Beauty” For Me


I started pursuing photography, very recently. More specifically, I started pursuing “mobile photography”, which means taking pictures with my smart phone camera. There is an entire universe of incredible mobile photography and one of my idols and inspirations was this guy.

As I did so, and as I started posted my photos and oohinh abdominal ahhing over the photos of others, I became aware that “beautiful” means a lot of different things to different people.


Me, I am enthralled by colors: the richer and more vibrant the better. They enliven and brighten me. They make me happy.


Other people dig sky shots and naturals, and linear, orderly things.

My interest in photography gave way to an interest in clothing and fashion as another way to express my moods and my creativity. And looking at fashion photos led me to the same conclusion.

There is SO MUCH beauty swirling around us all day every day. People come in all of these beautiful and endless configurations of size, shape, and color. One is dressed classically, and the next in an artist’s palette of colors. One is tall and curvy, while the next is slim and ethereal.

I no longer buy into the childish teaching that THIS is beautiful, and therefore all else is not. I did that for years of my life, and the lack of self acceptance played itself out in all kinds of destructive ways.

YOU don’t have to agree with my definition of beautiful: that’s OK. But I’ll be damned if I’ll believe anymore that your belief is right and mine is wrong.


I AM beautiful. And so are you. Because the beauty is IN the differences, and not in spite of them.


Home Sweet Home


This is a birdhouse our neighbor gave us when he moved – a man who kept beautiful gardens I admired. It’s not fancy, or pretty.

But every spring the birds return and start to fill it with anything soft they can scavenge from the yard, preparing for the first of several sets of babies they will raise.

Home is home – individual, varied, and beautiful in those who inhabit it.

First Times


When I met my husband at 46, he had never seen an ocean. Also? He was afraid of water. Two things for which I had no mental frame of reference.

So I took him to the ocean. And the fearful wonder of a middle aged man feeling the tide pull against his feet for the very first time was amazing to behold.

We’re never too old for first times.