I was walking back from the seaside, noticing how light and relaxed my body felt when suddenly this line came to my head: ‘I walk in beauty’. It made so much sense and that sentence fitted perfectly with how I felt in that moment.
I felt beautiful because I could sense my body walking following its natural relaxed movement, I felt super soft inside, my legs had a relaxed certainty about them, my arms were dangling in what felt like the perfect movement, I was standing tall without any conscious effort, I had a smile on my face and I felt beautiful.
Feeling beautiful had nothing to do with the clothes I was wearing: tracksuit bottoms, a top, walking boots, a scarf and a backpack.
Feeling beautiful had nothing to do with how much I currently weight: the most I have ever weighted in my life.
Feeling beautiful had nothing to do with how much make up I had on: I was only wearing the remnants of the red lipstick I wear every time I go out. Wearing red lipstick feels like an act of defiance these days. Yes, I wear red lipstick when walking to the seaside and back.
Feeling beautiful had nothing to do with how my hair looked: it was tied up in a messy ponytail.
Feeling beautiful had nothing to do with the attention I was receiving from someone else: I was walking alone.
I just felt beautiful in that moment, that lasted quite a bit, even when I became aware of it.
Or at least, until I started feeling the soreness of my muscles towards the end of the walk and the redness of my skin as I was feeling the warmth of my body after exercise.
I am grateful for having noticed such a precious moment of understanding and sensing of what it feels like to walk in beauty.
And if you are reminded of the Byron poem ‘She walks in beauty’ like I was, here it is:
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!