163 Marbles
Vancouver recently celebrated gay pride weekend and my running partner invited me to be part of the parade - his improv group had a marching troupe. I accepted the invite without really thinking what was involved - strutting through the streets in costume in front of a crowd of half a million. I’m glad I didn’t over-think it because I probably would have declined. In the end, the parade was F U N - why be a spectator when you can be a spectacle?
In the evening, my friend had tickets to a dance party with 500 gay men (and maybe ten women). You may think that a gay circuit party is an odd place for a girl to show up but I have 163 marbles so it was the perfect place for me. I so enjoy getting my dance on without any care of who might be watching. As I was dancing, I became aware that not one of the men who was there cared that I was there (except for my friend). Obvious, right? But it was odd because as women, we often grow up being aware of the male gaze - the realization that in our reality, men yield most of the power and women can choose to gain ancillary power by physically presenting in certain ways. It was so refreshing for me to be there, as myself, in my sparkly silver dress, just having fun for my own enjoyment.
There’s the old saying that “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.” In my experience, beauty always lies in the eyes of the "beholdee" - if there’s sparkle, the person is beautiful. A friend once questioned me about an old lover, “He wasn’t even good looking.” I disagreed, “He had shine, and when he smiled, he was luminous.”
The circuit party reminded me that beauty doesn’t come from being viewed as beautiful by anyone. It is a shine that is beneath the sparkly silver dress. It is the feeling of being my own source.
What would it take to detach from all extraneous ideas about what beautiful is? To separate from the mirror and feel the experience of being beautiful?
Vancouver recently celebrated gay pride weekend and my running partner invited me to be part of the parade - his improv group had a marching troupe. I accepted the invite without really thinking what was involved - strutting through the streets in costume in front of a crowd of half a million. I’m glad I didn’t over-think it because I probably would have declined. In the end, the parade was F U N - why be a spectator when you can be a spectacle?
In the evening, my friend had tickets to a dance party with 500 gay men (and maybe ten women). You may think that a gay circuit party is an odd place for a girl to show up but I have 163 marbles so it was the perfect place for me. I so enjoy getting my dance on without any care of who might be watching. As I was dancing, I became aware that not one of the men who was there cared that I was there (except for my friend). Obvious, right? But it was odd because as women, we often grow up being aware of the male gaze - the realization that in our reality, men yield most of the power and women can choose to gain ancillary power by physically presenting in certain ways. It was so refreshing for me to be there, as myself, in my sparkly silver dress, just having fun for my own enjoyment.
There’s the old saying that “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.” In my experience, beauty always lies in the eyes of the "beholdee" - if there’s sparkle, the person is beautiful. A friend once questioned me about an old lover, “He wasn’t even good looking.” I disagreed, “He had shine, and when he smiled, he was luminous.”
The circuit party reminded me that beauty doesn’t come from being viewed as beautiful by anyone. It is a shine that is beneath the sparkly silver dress. It is the feeling of being my own source.
What would it take to detach from all extraneous ideas about what beautiful is? To separate from the mirror and feel the experience of being beautiful?
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