Quite early this morning, my dog and I joined the glorious sunrise for a walk. Usually, on our first walk of the day, I enjoy listening to something poetic, like old school hip hop. Today, however, my brain seemed zoned into the collection of staleness in the city. I wanted to help each sad person to correct the issue with their life, sprinkling them with joy and pride, so that they, too, can live a beautiful, light, springy day. I wanted to pull back their shoulders, to lift their hearts, to ask them, what do they need to be happy. This is not to suggest that they won’t live a beautiful day, but the things that I observed just didn’t seem divine.

  • The middle-aged guy standing at the bus stop, unshaven, messy hair, with a big belly and one arm.
  • The young guy shuffling across a bridge, mumbling into his mobile, sweating, love handles hanging over khaki pants, skinny legs, clearly holding onto too much beer and too little exercise.
  • The woman dragging her toddler by the arm, screaming at her to “hurry the fuck up” to reach a bus stop.
  • The middle-aged man in the Lexus who stopped his car, staring at my body, up and down.
  • The suited forty-something, dressed to perfection, just seemed insecure, as though he knew that his life wasn’t pure, like an existence of James Taggart.
  • The unbathed woman talking to herself.
  • The slow-moving forty-something men in big black coats, blocking the sidewalk, second-hand smoke flowing in my direction.
  • The woman at Starbucks with a very stretched, too-tight-for-her Kate Spade dress in the colour of pink, ordering her iced macchiato and egg sandwich.
  • The housewife walking her dog, rushing off because I know that a bottle of gin awaits her.

They were mostly without facial expression. Like robots. Inefficient robots. Simply existing because they were born onto Earth. Simply surviving. No hope. No goal. Just emptiness. I wondered, what do these people find to be beautiful? Do they see beauty, everywhere that they look? Today was the first morning, in practically forever, that I considered such things because in these days of existing in a vessel of happiness, all that I see is beauty. Everyone deserves that.

A fashionista friend sent the following link to me, last week: ASHLEY GRAHAM, MARQUITA PRING AND MORE PLUS-SIZE MODELS SOUND OFF ON THIS SEASON’S PROGRESS IN BODY DIVERSITY. As the title suggests, the article discusses the progression of plus-sized models at fashion week. And my friend bluntly asked, “What do you think?” continuing with, “I still can’t digest this… no offence to anyone but this is a glorification of the unhealthy to me.”

Honestly, I think nothing. I personally will not buy a fashion magazine featuring plus-sized models because the reason for my purchase is to see fashion. The model, in my opinion, is simply a stage for the beautiful designs. She must be as minimal, light, and pure as can be, so as to remain unnoticed, so as to not overshadow the designs. However, there might be a group of people who love the model, versus the clothing, and this group of people might receive pleasure from viewing a woman who weighs more than a traditional model. So be it. And writing about it, about the happiness that one feels about the evolution of the modelling industry, if that gives one pleasure and happiness, then so be it. I don’t need to read it. Or to care about it.

For someone who existed in the trenches of an eating disorder for a long time, that might sound silly. Most would expect me to idolise a thin body. Yes, I prefer a thin body, especially looking into the mirror and seeing my own as such. Last week, preparing for a dinner with friends, I stood completely unclothed except for a pair of panties and earrings. Applying my makeup, I enjoyed seeing my collarbone and sternum, with my hair tied into an elegant side ballerina bun. I enjoyed seeing hipbones and small breasts. This gives me pleasure. Furthermore, in a mate, I shall only accept a lean, tall body. And I will question, in my head, like during this morning’s walk, on why a person isn’t existing at their fittest, but I shall never judge one’s character. The only judgement that I can and shall render is that over myself.

And I like what is happening.

I see beauty in the workers operating a crane. I see beauty in my friends, husband and wife, laughing at conclusion of their yoga session. I see beauty in kindness. I see beauty in a best friend, running to greet your dog. I see beauty in dogs! I see beauty in leadership. In strength. In passion. In the sunshine.

In yoga.

Beauty is not a myth.

It is real.