She's Hot, I'm Not.
It's hot. Paris Hilton hot. Crank up the A/C in the car and your shirt still sticks to the back of the seat hot. Still, I feel good today. Maybe its the time passing in that cute little chronological way, looking all temporally fine like it does, but I am just feeling generally amourous. I'm checking out everything in my path, like a bee searching for pollen or a squirrel seeking acorns. My eyes are once again open and seeing that rainbow of life. I wouldn't even be able to explain what I am feeling had I not been fortunate enough to spend a few moments catching up with Mad Spider's recent adventures. Reading about other people and the bumps in the road of life is not only comforting, its inspiring and affirming. And that's not even the reason I'm writing today...
Here we are, it's quitting time and I am out of the office and into the car to crawl home. I am doing the rush hour dance in my Saturn when out of the corner of my eye I spy some highlighted blonde locks. There is a hand running through them, a tanned and toned arm works its way to the side of her head, toying with her tresses in an innocently subtle manner. I jostle my car into another lane to get closer to her. She's driving an SUV. A red X-Terra or something. She is drinking one of those expensive POM juices. I catch a glimpse of her face. I am struck by the composition of her facial features and the utter lack of stress on her face. She picks up the phone. She starts chatting, and then I see it. Or rather I am blinded by it and almost turn into the median. She was sporting a rock that sat on 4 diamonds that other people would kill to have as their entire stone. She wore a wedding band that was so encrusted in diamonds one wondered if there was any gold used at all.
It was then that my mind started making all of these unfair assessments. Trophy wife. Married some guy for money and all she has to do is feed his ego. Traded on her genetic lottery ticket to win the jackpot. All of a sudden she wasn't so attractive to me anymore. The innocence now looked like simplemindedness. The relaxed and demure attitude now constituted callous regard for others. Then I turned that negativity on myself. Why was I becoming critical of someone I found attractive because of the size of her ring? Why can I not choose to believe that she might have come from family money herself? Maybe she was an industrious young woman who made her own fortune? Even if she married money, why must I assume that she didn't love him for other reasons and just accepted the money as a condition and not a qualifier?
All of this gave me pause and thought about lingering questions of my disposition towards people who are naturally and universally considered attractive. I've always tried to look past beauty to reach for the person inside the features. It's a personal pride that I have when I notice my relations with people are based on the content of their character and not the tone of their skin. So why is it what when I don't know people, have these random car interactions, that I am so frankly honest in my assessments? I painstaking try to only see the best in people that I know, even to the point of disillusionment. Yet with strangers I am so inclined to be acerbic. It's not hostile or aggressive and I know its only superficial and personal. I would never say these things out loud. So when I see some really heavy guy with a supersized double big mac meal, why can't I stop myself from thinking "Geez, maybe that guy should mix in a salad once in a while"? I have very close and personal friends that are bigger than the average, and I would never think of asking them to change one bit. I like them just the way they are and would want them only to be happy in life. If a Big Mac with supersize fries is what they want, I'd be happy to walk it over to their door.
It's like they say in the that book, "Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you".
Ps, I found my happy. That was super quick. I don't think it ever went anywhere. Happiness lies somewhere between responsibility and success in the sandwich of life.
Here we are, it's quitting time and I am out of the office and into the car to crawl home. I am doing the rush hour dance in my Saturn when out of the corner of my eye I spy some highlighted blonde locks. There is a hand running through them, a tanned and toned arm works its way to the side of her head, toying with her tresses in an innocently subtle manner. I jostle my car into another lane to get closer to her. She's driving an SUV. A red X-Terra or something. She is drinking one of those expensive POM juices. I catch a glimpse of her face. I am struck by the composition of her facial features and the utter lack of stress on her face. She picks up the phone. She starts chatting, and then I see it. Or rather I am blinded by it and almost turn into the median. She was sporting a rock that sat on 4 diamonds that other people would kill to have as their entire stone. She wore a wedding band that was so encrusted in diamonds one wondered if there was any gold used at all.
It was then that my mind started making all of these unfair assessments. Trophy wife. Married some guy for money and all she has to do is feed his ego. Traded on her genetic lottery ticket to win the jackpot. All of a sudden she wasn't so attractive to me anymore. The innocence now looked like simplemindedness. The relaxed and demure attitude now constituted callous regard for others. Then I turned that negativity on myself. Why was I becoming critical of someone I found attractive because of the size of her ring? Why can I not choose to believe that she might have come from family money herself? Maybe she was an industrious young woman who made her own fortune? Even if she married money, why must I assume that she didn't love him for other reasons and just accepted the money as a condition and not a qualifier?
All of this gave me pause and thought about lingering questions of my disposition towards people who are naturally and universally considered attractive. I've always tried to look past beauty to reach for the person inside the features. It's a personal pride that I have when I notice my relations with people are based on the content of their character and not the tone of their skin. So why is it what when I don't know people, have these random car interactions, that I am so frankly honest in my assessments? I painstaking try to only see the best in people that I know, even to the point of disillusionment. Yet with strangers I am so inclined to be acerbic. It's not hostile or aggressive and I know its only superficial and personal. I would never say these things out loud. So when I see some really heavy guy with a supersized double big mac meal, why can't I stop myself from thinking "Geez, maybe that guy should mix in a salad once in a while"? I have very close and personal friends that are bigger than the average, and I would never think of asking them to change one bit. I like them just the way they are and would want them only to be happy in life. If a Big Mac with supersize fries is what they want, I'd be happy to walk it over to their door.
It's like they say in the that book, "Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you".
Ps, I found my happy. That was super quick. I don't think it ever went anywhere. Happiness lies somewhere between responsibility and success in the sandwich of life.
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