Over break I read a charming children’s book.  The book belongs to Steven’s sister Lisa*.  The book is about a caterpillar named Charlie who, upon entering the world after his birth, becomes a social outcast to all the other animals because they think he is ugly.  Charlie, having just been born a short while ago, has no concept of what “ugly” is, much less what it means.  Gradually, as the animals keep telling him he’s ugly, Charlie starts to feel bad about himself.  Eventually Charlie gets sad and wraps up in a cocoon to sleep (Charlie clearly subscribes to my ideological philosophy about sadness — sleep makes everything better).  Then in the spring he wakes up and has — surprise! — butterfly wings!  Charlie is beautiful.  He is a beautiful butterfly, and all the animals tell him so.  They do not realise that he was ugly Charlie the Caterpillar.  They just see a beautiful butterfly, and Charlie just sees false friends.

You know, I’ve read a lot of books in my life.  I’ve analysed a lot of books in my life.  I’ve had a lot of philosophical discussions in my life, especially surrounding books.  Yet, as many profound realisations and points that have come up in all those books I’ve read and all those conversations I’ve had, none come close to the lessons I’ve learned from children and from children’s books.  Maybe that sounds silly, but I really don’t think it is.  The lessons children and children’s books have to offer are the sort that adults have been trained to ignore.  Our society has been completely trained to ignore inner beauty and instead to focus on exterior beauty as if that alone says everything there is to be said about us.  Our society has been completely trained to ignore basic kindness and manners and to instead focus on self-interest.

But, children’s books?  They jolt you back into reality.  The message being conveyed is so simple and clear that you feel ashamed, and you really envy the innocence of children.  It makes you think back to a time when these sorts of messages were normal for you and try to pinpoint when all of that started changing.  You try to pinpoint when you started to look at yourself in the mirror and saw “ugly” instead of “you.”  You try to even remember when you first understood what exactly “ugly” even meant.  Then you feel a deep sadness of loss, of the loss of your own innocence and of the children who will experience the same thing one day.

It is sad to realise that the children who read this book and other books like it will grow up eventually and that Charlie the Caterpillar will recede into the backs of their memories and into the dust-laden boxes in their attics all too soon and forgotten.  The sad fact of the matter is that this world doesn’t really have a place for Charlie the Caterpillar amidst the bone-thin models in magazines and fashion adverts, and yet Charlie the Caterpillar is exactly what this world needs.  How often are people told how beautiful they are as is?  How often do people focus on one another’s inner beauty rather than their physical beauty?  I grew up being told quite often how chubby I was or how I ate too much.  Those moments stick out in my mind clearly.  I cannot ever remember being told how great it was that I had such a healthy appetite or ever being made feel comfortable with my eating habits.  I think I can probably count the number of times my father ever told me I was beautiful on one hand, possibly two.  I think that for him it’s always been something that was just understood, but sadly, in the world we live in these sort of things aren’t simply understood.  These kinds of things need to be said.

People aren’t ugly.  Most people are not supremely attractive and probably will not be models, but that does not mean that because someone isn’t cut out to be the next Heidi Klum that she is ugly.  It just means that she is not cut out to be the next Heidi Klum.  That doesn’t mean that they aren’t beautiful, though.  Beauty is not a standard package; it’s different for everyone.  It reaches from hands, eyes and hair to a sweet disposition, selflessness and keen intellect, and absolutely everything in between.  This isn’t new to anyone, but it’s something we’ve all gotten accustomed to tuning out because it’s corny and people have trouble believing it.  Believing it would render a lot of marketing useless and would make people realise that beauty comes in everyone regardless of whether or not they buy mascara and lipstick or revealing clothing.

I think that as a woman this topic hits a lot closer to home than for a lot of men, but it really is something which breaks my heart to think about because I see it all the time.  I see friends admit that they think they’re ugly — smart, strong, incredible women — and all because that’s what they’ve been told, because no one ever stopped to tell them otherwise.  I myself even deal with this.  Some days I’ll look in the mirror and think, “Ugh. Mirror bad. Need to get rid of it. Hideous.”  Some days I’ll look in the mirror and think, “Hey, I actually look mildly sort of cute today.”  I get caught up in it, and usually it is the former, but I always fail to recognise my inner beauty and focus on my physical beauty, which I always find to be lacking.

In case someone hasn’t told you lately (and I hope someone has), YOU are beautiful.  You’re a beautiful person whose existence has enriched the lives of those around you and benefited them in ways which you may never know or comprehend, but you have.  I fully encourage you to tell someone else who you maybe don’t tell very often how beautiful you think they are.  You may just make their day.

*This post is dedicated to Lisa for being a very strong, independent, beautiful young woman whom I admire and love greatly.  Her dedication to social reform and aid is incredible and her devotion to her fellow man is humbling.  She has the kind of vision and drive which I find both humbling and inspiring.  She is beautiful beyond words, both inside and out.  Thank you, Lisa, for loaning me your book!