Make Me

“Maybe that is what I like best about him, the way he makes me. Not makes me feel, just makes me.”

I was reading “Gone Girl”, a novel by Gillian Flynn, and this line made me stop and think. I love it when that happens. Sometimes I feel guilty when I read fiction, instead of reading a self-help book or a career-oriented book, so gems like this help to justify my indulgence. I read this line and thought Yes! That is it. That is what I’m missing.

I have an incredible circle of friends who are not only smart and talented, but who are also some of the best human beings I know. They are probably unaware of how much I look to them for examples of how I should be conducting my own life. They are honest, hard-working, positive, compassionate people. When I am in a lazy funk, an encouraging word from any one of them can bring me out of it in a snap. I am a better person for knowing these friends; in this sense, I love the way they “make me.”

But seeing good examples is different from having someone who will confront those things about you that you won’t or can’t admit are, shall we say, less than stellar. Occasionally I am blessed with a heart-to-heart talk with one of my friends who will call me out when I am being inconsiderate, or who will help me to change a bad habit. But an occasional reality check with a friend is not the same as a lifelong commitment with someone who knows you inside-out.

One of my good friends told me that when she and her husband decided to get married, they made a promise to help each other be better people. Though that may sound like a version of your typical wedding vows, I am convinced that they live that promise daily, even though the day-to-day commitment to do so is tough. Sometimes—probably most times—it’s easier to just let bad habits or behaviors slide rather than get into a confrontation with your spouse. And let’s face it: sometimes it’s downright irritating to hear criticism, especially from your spouse, when you just don’t think that what they’re saying is true. I guess that’s why they call it a blind spot.

But here’s the thing: if there is deep love and commitment between you, the promise to help each other be better people can truly be life-changing. One of the best gifts I can imagine would be to have someone who can help me work on exterminating all the ugly gremlins of my personality while convincing me that they love, respect, and want to be with me in spite of them. I think I would love the way that would make me.

One final thought: I’m not so naïve to think that having a significant other would be the final answer to all of my angst and bad habits. Sometimes things don’t turn out the way we imagine. I’ve had friends—good friends—who have inexplicably stopped speaking to me, presumably over something I said or did that they found hurtful. I guess I’ll never know why, unless they decide to tell me. So it’s possible that “I love the way you make me” can became “Oh yeah? Make me!” But the great thing about hope is that it allows you to imagine the best possibilities. I believe that I can be a better version of myself. I would love to have the help of someone who loves me. So go ahead. Make me.

My Kind of Beauty

On a recent hike I paused to admire a field of grass. Yep, grass. Many would think it odd, but I found that field of grass quite beautiful. The sunlight was streaming through just right, and the blade tips feathered out so delicately, shivering with the slightest breeze. I felt a little silly as my eyes teared up with the magnificence of that grass. That’s when I started to think about beauty, and how extremely personal it is to us all. In fact, we will vehemently disagree with another’s idea of what is or isn’t beautiful, and many times we even end up contradicting ourselves over our own definition of beauty.

After pondering this, I have decided that beauty is not a label that you place on things (or people) because of the way they look, but a description you place on things (or people) because of how they make you feel. Declaring that something (or someone) is beautiful isn't based on fact, or even on opinion; it is based on emotion influenced by perspective and context.

For example, I could proclaim the beauty of the grassy field that I saw on my morning hike, and later that same day, hasten to mow down the ugly blades on my own lawn. On a recent hike, I spied a marbled orb weaver spider, its beautifully intricate markings reminiscent of a Chinese pagoda sketch. If I had found that same spider in my dresser drawer, I would have screamed like a banshee and pounded it to smithereens. How could I think of something as beautiful one minute, and then the next minute be repulsed by the same thing? Wildflowers, spiders, and other creatures may be beautiful in their natural settings, but move them into your personal living space and they become weeds, pests, and other undesirable things that should be eliminated. That’s beauty according to context.

A person who loves the hustle and bustle of fast-paced life, with man-made entertainment and lots of stimulation, might see large cities as beautiful, while a person who dislikes crowds and tight spaces might see cities only as invitations to claustrophobia. Some might find mountains to be visions of beauty while city-lovers may see them as foreboding, dark, and dangerous. Different perspectives. 

This definition of beauty fits people, too. For instance, take my friends and family. To you, they may be overweight, too skinny, wrinkled, have crooked teeth, have no teeth (like my newborn great-nephew), have sagging body parts, liver spots, acne, scars, or too many bad hair days. But they are precious to me. The feeling that I get when I look at them can only mean one thing: they are beautiful. That’s my perspective.

"There is beauty in everything, but not everyone sees it." --Confucius