‘I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul’

Funny this thing of body and perfection. I think our idea of perfect anything is a little on the nose – we have shorn off the black from the white, the shade from the light, heaven from earth; and think that things must be entirely flawless to be beautiful. I just muse on this today as I admired a big solid bottom swathed in thick denim walk past the train window and it made me remember that I am attracted to things that wouldn’t be considered physical ideals, and love beautiful imperfection. I pick up rusty washers when I see them and collect special corroded flakes of metal in all their beautiful warm shades and put them in a bowl with seashells as an ornament. I have no problem with frayed and torn and irregular fabrics. And in people? I like lovely smile lines. I am fascinated by tiny mouths or large proud noses or solid practical veined hands. I like funny faces. I am attracted to distinctiveness, difference, the bundle of characteristics that makes someone up: someone louche and wry with teeth at interesting angles; someone brown and curved like a nut, relaxed with hands that care for things; someone full of energy and lean with stories and plans and thin lips and crinkly eyes; someone so pale that eyelashes look dusted with snow; someone’s flat belly with a trail of dark hair down it and shining dark eyes; someone solid and understated with a face like the Buddha; someone young with receeding hair and a sexy smile and a friendly way with waiters. All of these, more. I have been in love with freckled folk, slept with skinny souls, gone for people with glasses. Attraction for me is neither in spite of, not because of – but irrespective of the tick box rating on body beautiful. And isn’t this so for all of us? Which is not to deny that there is certainly something deeply physical about attraction. Even attraction based on the meeting of like minds is informed by physicality - where someone’s state of mind is embodied in the way they sit, lean forward, flush, do or don’t fidget, smile, how they eat, the sound of their voice, the way they smile, the way you feel when they stand next to you. There are silent conversations that happen between bodies whether our anxious censoring minds acknowledge them or not. And when you fall for someone you fall for all of them – the skinny ankles, crooked smile or podgy belly. You become fascinated with the orange monkey hair on their arms, their stumpy fingers and the way they stir a wooden spoon; love their moon tan, their solidness, their unruly curves, feel fond for their funny big ears, the amazing point of their nose or slight double chin. When you love someone all they are is amazing. We are all transformed by love.

So, what is my point? I tell you this story to remind you and more, to remind myself. To be kind to myself in the mirror and not ever think that love can be constructed with blocks of neat hair and flatter belly, that the physical is any more than an expression of what’s happening inside. Hold on to the idea that my ample bottom and abundant thighs are not necccessarily an impediment to love; that any stories I have that these things could be a barrier to a relationship are just stories, protective padding, my excuse.

And next time I wail inwardly at a bad hair day or wobbly curvy bits that wont hide neatly inside my clothes, I will ask ‘but am I pretty on the inside?’ and remind myself that the world might be a nicer place if we were helpfully reminded that the shine and radiance of our hearts illuminates us more than our exteriors can.