Have you ever wondered how your life would be if you were drop-dead gorgeous? Perfect. Or close to it, right? Each day would wrap its arms around you and offer you a grand gorilla hug. The sun would shine on your back, but not to the point that your armpits would have big ugly pit stains. Ahhhh…if only I were exceptionally beautiful. Then you look in the mirror and reality slaps you in the face. Oh dear. Is this really all I get to work with? And then you thank the good Lord for the invention of makeup.
I’ve had the privilege of living in many different places and knowing a variety of people, including some of the ultra-rich and some of the ultra-beautiful. Their stories are imprinted upon my heart and have helped me to embrace the truth: everyone has burdens to bear. Even the wealthy (they have the highest rates of depression and suicide, and the Amish have the lowest rates) and the extraordinarily beautiful. In fact the exceptionally beautiful have beastly burdens to bear. That is probably hard for you to understand – unless, of course, you are exceptionally beautiful. In that case, you totally get it.
“No matter what I do, where I go, or what I wear, guys are always checking me out,” Linda said. Modeling agents propositioned her frequently, although she never signed on. She didn’t take the offers because she spent her passion and energy on her life goal of pursuing horticulture.
“I just can’t believe what happened this morning,” Linda said. (Note: Not her real name or identity.) She had mentioned during her interview for my book how she resented her physical beauty. Linda’s sleek, dark brown hair and slender yet athletic frame added to her exotic beauty. People often asked Linda her ethnicity, although her genes included variety.
She sighed deeply, tears rolling down her face.
“This guy – I have no idea who he is – was taking pictures of me while I was talking with my best friend on the phone. I would have told him to get lost, but Calina and I were deep in our conversation. Where is it gonna end? I would do anything to look average. Anything.”
Linda’s story shows the truth: The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. But most of the time, it’s AstroTurf.
(Note: This is a condensed version of a chapter in the book I’m writing.)