Medium Flavor Level Thoughts and what makes a woman beautiful

I must first warn anyone that may read this that it is a long ramble of attempted expression of a feeling that is entirely expressionless. So read on if you must, but it may never quite say what I wanted it to say.

When I was young I had an idea in my head about what I would like to become. This is an idea I formed when I was about 17 years old. I thought that when I became a man I would live in some European village with a beautiful European lover (of course). We would live in a one room studio apartment that overlooked a small street. The room would have a bed, small kitchen and a little table with a candle in an old wine bottle all melted and drippy. I would probably write poetry or short stories all day while my lover worked in a delicious bakery. In the evenings we would go to a local cafe and meet friends. We would talk about literature, love and politics. We would stay out late and sleep in. I envisioned a life filled with friends, love and art.

Of course reality is different, but I think I still have that bohemian wonder lust inside. Recently I have felt a surge of that feeling, a feeling of life. One of the only ways I can describe it is a feeling that living is itself art. Thoreau may have meant this when he talked about how he "went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately". My 17 year old dream was just that, a desire to live deliberately, or experience the art in my living.

This feeling has been boiling up in me for about the last month. It is a feeling that I need to be living and soaking in all the beauty and wonders of life. It really came to a point last Friday when I dug out of my bookshelf a book of poetry that I have had for a least 20 years. Sitting out side in the evening of a golden autumn world I began reading again Frost, Dickinson and Crane. I fell in love again. I remembered what a pleasure poetry was to read. Poetry does not produce anything, did not put money in my bank account, and did not improve the mileage of my car. It was a pure indulgence of life. And as I read on, finding myself quite happy, I wondered if this was, in a way, living my life deliberately. I also noticed that I felt like I was partially living as that young 17 me would have wanted. I felt a revolution, rediscovery or rebirth in my soul.

I was so happy that I ended up memorizing a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay called "Love is not all- It is not meat nor drink". It felt so good to have these words of indulgence of life roll off my tongue. Later that night I recited it to my sweets. We kissed and I felt like I was 17. The biggest impression is that I have felt a great peace, I felt like I was somehow myself again. I also resolved to let go of negatives in my life, like pity, cynicism, coldness. I decided to try to notice all the great things all around me. All the beautiful wonders. And I also resolved to stop over analyzing my life and soak it in, instead.

My last comments for tonight are what makes a woman beautiful. It is all the things I described above. A young girl is beautiful, certainly, but not because of her young skin or her innocence and lack of experiences. What make a woman beautiful is the ability to be alive, to laugh and to smile. A woman who can possess the love of life and that poetic disposition is far more beautiful than the young girl. I suppose the same could be said for men, but I don't really know.