The adjective beautiful has always been so limiting to me. Why is only a well-shaped woman beautiful? Or the sunset? I’ve always found the feel of the sun on my skin beautiful or a hot shower in the morning, the warmth enveloping my chilled body. I find the taste of a good tea beautiful. It’s heat rising from the mug. As a child I had no particular fondness for tea. It ended every dinner and was an accompaniment to dim sum, but as an adult I love the nuances of the different varieties and the subtly of their flavor. I am not afraid to describe the taste as beautiful.
When I run or swim, I find the way the air or water parts to make way for my body, beautiful. There are people without the benefit of limbs to propel them. I relish the existence of mine by exercising. One can cleave the air on a motorcycle, but it’s not the same as feeling the efforts of your body making progress in the passing scenery. I love the way my blood heats up and feels like fire running through my veins. I love the way my body feels electrified, the beat of my heart passing through every part of my being. I find this beautiful. In the same vein, I find moving my body in the act of creation, writing or cooking, beautiful. My efforts create something that previously didn’t exist, like a magician, but the results are very real.
Something to Blog about 