"Beauty is not caused. It is." -Emily Dickinson
Water, steam, saunas, and fresh warm towels call to me. I'm lucky to be in a place that caters to my favorite, the art of doing nothing. Relaxation is the key to my physical and mental health, so thank goodness for the multitude of thermal baths and spas through Europe.
After spending time relaxing at the Swiss, Turkish, and Hungarian baths and at the pools and beaches of Spain and Italy, I've come to appreciate a sense of freedom found in baring all. Putting my American prudishness aside, I have joined the crowd and become a fan of letting my inhibitions go. Watching the beautiful Italian women of all shapes, sizes, and ages strut their stuff on the beach in two-piece, barely-there bikinis made me smile. They didn't have a care in the world, and definitely didn't show signs of an engrained, ridiculous sense of concern about body image. The women of Spain threw off bikini tops and soaked up the sun, abandoning any sense of concern for others' perceptions. After all, who wants those awful lines getting in the way of a perfectly bronzed canvas? (Hope they use SPF though, those ladies love a tan!)
This got me considering the unhealthy, obsessive expectations some of us put on ourselves when it comes to the way we look. The physical self is the first impression, the one we place judgment on first when we observe others. I get that, people have always sought beauty. But why must we place so much emphasis on this outward and ephemeral quality, so as to not enjoy ourselves? I remember the first time I ever felt I was being judged on my appearance. In 5th grade, I bought a new dress I was so excited to wear to school. When I did, the first thing one of my friends said is, "You look pregnant." I was shocked at this statement; not because it was deliberately mean, but because it sat with me, in the pit of my stomach, so long. Why did her opinion or statement matter to me so much anyway? I remember those awkward moments- pool parties, summer outings- when I passed up massive amounts of fun for the slightest bit of self-consciousness.
Now, as a grown woman, I love me. I love my curly hair, my curves, my freckles that show up half the year, the strength my body contains. I have moments where I don't feel attractive, but I've made a conscious decision not to let it prohibit me from enjoying life. Wherever that confidence comes from, I wish it for all women. For all people. Those beautiful, naked Europeans don't seem to care, why should we?
Water, steam, saunas, and fresh warm towels call to me. I'm lucky to be in a place that caters to my favorite, the art of doing nothing. Relaxation is the key to my physical and mental health, so thank goodness for the multitude of thermal baths and spas through Europe.
After spending time relaxing at the Swiss, Turkish, and Hungarian baths and at the pools and beaches of Spain and Italy, I've come to appreciate a sense of freedom found in baring all. Putting my American prudishness aside, I have joined the crowd and become a fan of letting my inhibitions go. Watching the beautiful Italian women of all shapes, sizes, and ages strut their stuff on the beach in two-piece, barely-there bikinis made me smile. They didn't have a care in the world, and definitely didn't show signs of an engrained, ridiculous sense of concern about body image. The women of Spain threw off bikini tops and soaked up the sun, abandoning any sense of concern for others' perceptions. After all, who wants those awful lines getting in the way of a perfectly bronzed canvas? (Hope they use SPF though, those ladies love a tan!)
This got me considering the unhealthy, obsessive expectations some of us put on ourselves when it comes to the way we look. The physical self is the first impression, the one we place judgment on first when we observe others. I get that, people have always sought beauty. But why must we place so much emphasis on this outward and ephemeral quality, so as to not enjoy ourselves? I remember the first time I ever felt I was being judged on my appearance. In 5th grade, I bought a new dress I was so excited to wear to school. When I did, the first thing one of my friends said is, "You look pregnant." I was shocked at this statement; not because it was deliberately mean, but because it sat with me, in the pit of my stomach, so long. Why did her opinion or statement matter to me so much anyway? I remember those awkward moments- pool parties, summer outings- when I passed up massive amounts of fun for the slightest bit of self-consciousness.
Now, as a grown woman, I love me. I love my curly hair, my curves, my freckles that show up half the year, the strength my body contains. I have moments where I don't feel attractive, but I've made a conscious decision not to let it prohibit me from enjoying life. Wherever that confidence comes from, I wish it for all women. For all people. Those beautiful, naked Europeans don't seem to care, why should we?
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