What is beauty, exactly? Is it in the eye of the beholder, as someone once said? Is there a measure of beauty that can be objectively defined? Why is one person called beautiful while another is plain? To be sure, beauty is much debated and changes with the turning tides of time.
I’ve mentioned before that I find nature beautiful. Many poets from long ago agree with my assessment, writing to the trees and the rivers. Troubadors from medieval courts lauded the beauty of nature, the joy to be found in the ardent green of rural life. Philosophers, too, often spoke to the sheer perfection of nature. The likeness of nature to the simple life appeals to many, and is arguably why people decide to move to the country, away from the conveniances of city life. People are willing to sacrifice the ability to walk 5 minutes to a grocery store in order to wake up and gaze out the window at the expansive beauty of nature.
Maybe beauty is a feeling. The feeling of throwing yourself into a dance, losing yourself in the music. If that’s what you enjoy, that is. Beauty in movement might be something you can feel, rather than something you can see. The moment when everything clicks and you’re lost to your own little world- to me, that is beautiful. When you can cast aside worries of the external judging eye and give way to the inner sensations raring to be let out of the cage, unleashed onto the dance floor or just in your bedroom, grooving to the tunes on the radio. It’s a beautiful feeling to me to let out emotion in a tyrade of dance or song- feeling my vocal cords expell the sweet sounds of a good song well within my range feels like beauty.
While some people might think of beauty in a more concrete sense- the materialistic description of a person, I choose to see it as the poets of old saw it- a way to describe a feeling. The feeling one gets when gazing at a gorgeous old building or when feeling the music rise up through the floor. If I think about beauty as society concieves it, the word loses its joy and gives way to the judgments of self that creep up time and time again. So I will choose to see beauty in a hidden arch way or in a flick of the wrist. Beauty concieved of this way feels more simple and more real. Beauty like this is ancient, it is natural. Beauty like this is boundless.