Newspapers support the habit of old folks. While fashion magazines are published for young fools. I trust beauty advice from the Office Hottie because she is living proof of her own good advice. Water cooler talk offers perspective far superior to the talking heads broadcasting endless television. New York and Los Angeles heralds the news from on high to the rest of us low-lifes in Fly Over Country.
Print newspapers and fashion magazines are the dinosaurs of our time for three reasons. One is that due to space constraints, they print limited amounts of information to what fits around existing paid advertisements. Two is that their advertisements are scatter shot throughout, giving no regard to your particular demographics. Three is its editorials are skewed so heavily to those who don't even read, much less buy the paper.
The Internet is the solution to all these problems, but a serious problem for publications. Through blogging and podcasting, posting pictures, reading and writing responses, and social networking, folks participate fully within their community online. We share information among like minds instead of getting lost in the abyss of everyone else everywhere else who's not you.
America The Beautiful, Most Times
All things beautiful are the embellishments of exuberant excess. Abundant beauty is a chronology of continuous wealth and stable societies. This can be traced from family units to whole nations by way of city buildings and women’s beauty. Every decade in recent American history was one of increasing wealth. Each succeeding decade produced its share of beautiful women.
There are two exceptions in ongoing American hegemony. The 1940s during World War II was a time of unintended scarcity and mandatory rationing. The 1970s, marred by the failure of President Jimmy Carter, experienced the OPEC oil embargo and the Iran Hostage Crisis. A general malaise exacerbated multiple military failures and massive manufacturing sector lay-offs. Stagflation, requiring two income earners, had women working outside the home to make ends meet. The obliteration of family life began our devastating Divorce Culture.
Comparatively, despite extreme economic and emotional hardship experienced during the 1940s, the women were beautiful as beauty remained virtuous. Why? Patriotism. American women were the reason why men fought for their country and still do. Men were welcomed home to a grateful nation and the loving embrace of their wives.
Not so in the 1970s where contemporary architecture built oppressive facades just as contemporary attitudes created harried women, emasculated men, and broken families. The greatest loss to America was in losing faith in the American Man, to which we have never fully recovered. Hideous city skylines and generations of broken families are proof of what we lost for all that eyes can see.
There are two exceptions in ongoing American hegemony. The 1940s during World War II was a time of unintended scarcity and mandatory rationing. The 1970s, marred by the failure of President Jimmy Carter, experienced the OPEC oil embargo and the Iran Hostage Crisis. A general malaise exacerbated multiple military failures and massive manufacturing sector lay-offs. Stagflation, requiring two income earners, had women working outside the home to make ends meet. The obliteration of family life began our devastating Divorce Culture.
Comparatively, despite extreme economic and emotional hardship experienced during the 1940s, the women were beautiful as beauty remained virtuous. Why? Patriotism. American women were the reason why men fought for their country and still do. Men were welcomed home to a grateful nation and the loving embrace of their wives.
Not so in the 1970s where contemporary architecture built oppressive facades just as contemporary attitudes created harried women, emasculated men, and broken families. The greatest loss to America was in losing faith in the American Man, to which we have never fully recovered. Hideous city skylines and generations of broken families are proof of what we lost for all that eyes can see.
Paternity Determines Womanly Beauty
Polygamy is not pretty. Self-sufficience is sexy. Islamic cultures allow a man multiple wives. They regard it as a social imperative for a man of means to marry available females in a legal harem. They build stable societies by marrying women, making them beholden to one man. This compensates for the majority of men with no means who cannot afford a family of their own.
In tribal societies, paternity matters. "Who's your daddy?" is a matter of life and death, not merely an entry on one's birth certificate. Being the son of a wealthy man ensures survival in that they can then afford wives of their own. Their family name continues into the next generation, and the next, and the next. The patriarchy perpetuates itself.
It is very easy for us Americans to be snide about other cultures that allow one man to marry many women. We scoff knowing that being married to one woman is hard enough. Yet, we in America have a polygamous culture. Unlike Muslims, our harems are not religious sects. It is entirely secular.
Having children out of wedlock and raising them in the welfare system is polygamy where one "man" supports many women. Ghettos are family compounds. When kids are wards of the state, Uncle Sam is Sultan.
Forcing men to pay court-ordered child support is polygamy when a family man legally morphs into Deadbeat Dad. Family law reduces husbands to mere johns, trading sexual services for cash transactions. The legal system as protector - and pimp. When Big Government is Big Daddy, his women are whores.
In tribal societies, paternity matters. "Who's your daddy?" is a matter of life and death, not merely an entry on one's birth certificate. Being the son of a wealthy man ensures survival in that they can then afford wives of their own. Their family name continues into the next generation, and the next, and the next. The patriarchy perpetuates itself.
It is very easy for us Americans to be snide about other cultures that allow one man to marry many women. We scoff knowing that being married to one woman is hard enough. Yet, we in America have a polygamous culture. Unlike Muslims, our harems are not religious sects. It is entirely secular.
Having children out of wedlock and raising them in the welfare system is polygamy where one "man" supports many women. Ghettos are family compounds. When kids are wards of the state, Uncle Sam is Sultan.
Forcing men to pay court-ordered child support is polygamy when a family man legally morphs into Deadbeat Dad. Family law reduces husbands to mere johns, trading sexual services for cash transactions. The legal system as protector - and pimp. When Big Government is Big Daddy, his women are whores.
Getting Laid In The Afterlife
Men become suicidal terrorists for one reason: to be a hero in death for being a loser in life. In their culture, these men cannot marry because they are deemed undesirable. This may be because he is uneducated and thus, unemployable.
Societies allowing men many wives exacerbate this problem by casting single men in the lifelong role of rogue element. Failed states that cannot support its ballooning youth or precarious economy encourage martyrdom. Attributing eternal glory in death somehow compensates for being mediocre at best in life.
A wife who takes her man's name and a son who carries that name in perpetuity nullifies the desire to make a name for oneself through martyrdom because he already has through marriage. Not having a woman of his own is death, both biological and social.
Maybe if terrorists got laid, they wouldn't be terrorists. Then we could all live in peace, as would those seventy-two virgins.
Societies allowing men many wives exacerbate this problem by casting single men in the lifelong role of rogue element. Failed states that cannot support its ballooning youth or precarious economy encourage martyrdom. Attributing eternal glory in death somehow compensates for being mediocre at best in life.
A wife who takes her man's name and a son who carries that name in perpetuity nullifies the desire to make a name for oneself through martyrdom because he already has through marriage. Not having a woman of his own is death, both biological and social.
Maybe if terrorists got laid, they wouldn't be terrorists. Then we could all live in peace, as would those seventy-two virgins.
Angry Envy of Uglies Ruins Beautiful Love
Things that are most true are mostly counter-intuitive. Beautiful women being sluts, for example. Confidence is what makes a woman beautiful. Her virtue is beauty at first glance. Insecurity and she's merely an attractive woman. It's the mousy brown chicks and all the fat hags who whore it up. They sling their pussies like hash for the phantom feeling of being beautiful.
Yet, they say to never marry a beautiful woman because she has a past... and so she has a future - with other men. This is because they have options. Men fear that those options are better than he is, and he's often right.
Let's think about this. Beautiful women have a lot of opportunities for sex with many men. Being sexually desirable is the ultimate in having options. But just because we have the numbers to run doesn't mean we run the numbers. No, the opposite is true. Having the opportunity to discern among our many options, we pick the very best ones or none at all. We don't need to suffer fools and their follies. We don't have to.
When quantity is not an issue, quality is. Given all the options, many of them very good, we select for ourselves the best man for us. We don't need many, just a few good men. They are worthy of our affection. They have lasting value. Because of this, when a beautiful woman chooses her man, she is deliberate in her choice and confident in her decision. This makes her impervious to the seductive maneuvers of other men, all vying for her attention. There is no complimenting her out of her panties by telling her she is beautiful because she already knows this. Stating the obvious has no sway with seduction.
Men have erections in their sleep. They produce semen daily and on demand by the load. There's no real compliment to having a man ejaculate with you. Not when he does it so often alone. There's little value to being his witness, mute or otherwise. If he isn't spending his allotment by having sex with a woman, he would through nocturnal emissions anyway, even after giving his hand a try. So saying you're pretty gets you into bed with him. Big deal. Talk is cheap. Sex is cheaper. Yet, promiscuity is so very costly. Women of the highest value will not pay its price.
The value of beautiful women is high. It's the fools who are willing to pay for sex at any price. For this reason, beautiful women do not cheat on her man for other men who compliment her. She doesn't need to. Doing without is much easier than making do. Even when not involved in a relationship, the time between lovers is fleeting. She feels no desperation, and so will not pay the devil his due for indiscriminate sex. She knows she's desirable. She has the numbers to prove it. But it's those same numbers of available suitors that sully her image. Reputations made worse by the angry envy of ugly women who gobble up the dregs as if there really is such thing as second place. Sloppy seconds, maybe. That's no prize.
Yet, they say to never marry a beautiful woman because she has a past... and so she has a future - with other men. This is because they have options. Men fear that those options are better than he is, and he's often right.
Let's think about this. Beautiful women have a lot of opportunities for sex with many men. Being sexually desirable is the ultimate in having options. But just because we have the numbers to run doesn't mean we run the numbers. No, the opposite is true. Having the opportunity to discern among our many options, we pick the very best ones or none at all. We don't need to suffer fools and their follies. We don't have to.
When quantity is not an issue, quality is. Given all the options, many of them very good, we select for ourselves the best man for us. We don't need many, just a few good men. They are worthy of our affection. They have lasting value. Because of this, when a beautiful woman chooses her man, she is deliberate in her choice and confident in her decision. This makes her impervious to the seductive maneuvers of other men, all vying for her attention. There is no complimenting her out of her panties by telling her she is beautiful because she already knows this. Stating the obvious has no sway with seduction.
Men have erections in their sleep. They produce semen daily and on demand by the load. There's no real compliment to having a man ejaculate with you. Not when he does it so often alone. There's little value to being his witness, mute or otherwise. If he isn't spending his allotment by having sex with a woman, he would through nocturnal emissions anyway, even after giving his hand a try. So saying you're pretty gets you into bed with him. Big deal. Talk is cheap. Sex is cheaper. Yet, promiscuity is so very costly. Women of the highest value will not pay its price.
The value of beautiful women is high. It's the fools who are willing to pay for sex at any price. For this reason, beautiful women do not cheat on her man for other men who compliment her. She doesn't need to. Doing without is much easier than making do. Even when not involved in a relationship, the time between lovers is fleeting. She feels no desperation, and so will not pay the devil his due for indiscriminate sex. She knows she's desirable. She has the numbers to prove it. But it's those same numbers of available suitors that sully her image. Reputations made worse by the angry envy of ugly women who gobble up the dregs as if there really is such thing as second place. Sloppy seconds, maybe. That's no prize.
As I Reader, I Want
To me, seeing is believing – in person and in print. I'm empty, even after all that filler in print.
Wishing to be fulfilled emotionally and intellectually, there's so much more I want from what I read.
I want writing that’s worth investing precious minutes of reading, for which I’ll pay any price.
I want to connect with the writer through the writing’s mental monologue.
I want writing that I can’t wait to get back to after being forcibly pulled away.
I want to feel devastated when the piece ends; losing the connection that can’t even be made with lovers or resumed again with another writer.
I want phrases rattling through my head like an obsessive compulsive deprived of her meds who can’t purge her endless thoughts.
I want words to hit me hard like the clanging of a cast iron skillet, which soothes with its brittle coolness to the touch.
Wishing to be fulfilled emotionally and intellectually, there's so much more I want from what I read.
I want writing that’s worth investing precious minutes of reading, for which I’ll pay any price.
I want to connect with the writer through the writing’s mental monologue.
I want writing that I can’t wait to get back to after being forcibly pulled away.
I want to feel devastated when the piece ends; losing the connection that can’t even be made with lovers or resumed again with another writer.
I want phrases rattling through my head like an obsessive compulsive deprived of her meds who can’t purge her endless thoughts.
I want words to hit me hard like the clanging of a cast iron skillet, which soothes with its brittle coolness to the touch.
Wanted: Musings on the Politics of Appearance
To me, seeing is believing – in person and in print. There is so much I want from writers who write of beauty and the politics of appearance. I'm not getting it, and so I am doing it. This is the basis of my blog Ugly Is Not an Option.
I want writing that’s worth investing precious minutes of reading, for which I’ll pay any price.
I want to connect with the writer through the writing’s mental monologue.
I want writing that I can’t wait to get back to after being forcibly pulled away.
I want to feel devastated when the piece ends; losing the connection that can’t even be made with lovers or resumed again with another writer.
I want phrases rattling through my head like an obsessive compulsive deprived of her meds who can’t purge her endless thoughts.
I want words to hit me hard like the clanging of a cast iron skillet, which soothes with its brittle coolness to the touch.
I want writing that’s worth investing precious minutes of reading, for which I’ll pay any price.
I want to connect with the writer through the writing’s mental monologue.
I want writing that I can’t wait to get back to after being forcibly pulled away.
I want to feel devastated when the piece ends; losing the connection that can’t even be made with lovers or resumed again with another writer.
I want phrases rattling through my head like an obsessive compulsive deprived of her meds who can’t purge her endless thoughts.
I want words to hit me hard like the clanging of a cast iron skillet, which soothes with its brittle coolness to the touch.
I Went To Hell And Back And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt
If you are jealous of another woman, it is only because you don't know her well. People who have suffered envy no one. Once you touch the ugly guts of a lovely facade, there's no enchantment with a beautiful lie.
Experience suffering and we can no longer deceive ourselves. Or deny the lies of others. It's as though this knowledge removes filters to elegant deceptions. Indignant anger turns into cool acceptance.
Our job as successful members of society is to suffer in silence. With a quiet dignity, we wait for this tragedy to pass and its grief to end. Like a red scar, it fades in time. Invisible to all; indelible to us.
We each hurt, wounded inside. Pain is more patient than we are. Loss is inevitable in our lives. We cannot avoid the inexorable truth.
Along our path, we pick up a story to tell. We pray our tale is not told in vain. For others, it remains a secret to keep. A source of shame.
We cannot allow ourselves to become numb. The pain subsides. I promise you. It does. You are not alone.
When we are young, there is tremendous shine on the shell, and a squishy softness in the middle. At some point in maturity, we realize how tender we are on the outside, and how solid is our core. Reality, it seems, turns inside out.
Now you know. The only thing worth fighting for is life itself. Everything else is disposable. Ego, image, vanity. These feints at self-importance are mere delusions and wasteful expenditures.
These lessons came at a cost, though. It is well worth the price I paid. However, it is an involuntary tax imposed on experience.
In the crucible of my time, I asked God "Why me? I'm not Job. I don't matter." The moment was wasted on me. But not for long. It had to matter. This is not for nothing. It can't be.
I started to take an inventory. What was lost? What remains? What next?
Accounting for my meager blessings, I started to be thankful. Then I started seeing goodness all around me. For everything I lost, I regained each of the losses as a tenfold gain. It's as though gratitude is a form of tithing, like mental money.
As I account for the losses, I am amazed at what remains. Good things endure, however ephemeral they seem to be. What survived the storm? Happiness. Love. Talent.
How did these survive? Because they are internal qualities. It is found within me, as if each are a seed in our soul. As such, they can never be taken away. They cannot be given away, either. Only thrown away as ingrattitude.
I thank God every day for what I have. I'm thankful for all that He left for me to rebuild of my life. It's not mansions in paradise and winning lottery tickets, either. But the trials are over, or so it seems. A reprieve is good enough for me.
One thing I know: storm as it might, I'm still standing. Isn't that what we really wonder of ourselves? In the event of a distaster, can I survive? If I survive, will I ever thrive?
Ockham's Razor states that when you hear the sound of hooves - think horses, not zebras. But what if the sound of hooves you hear is The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? That's easy - think zebras, not horses.
Laugh in face of fear. Why not? Imagine the fearsome Pestilence, War, Famine, and Disease clopping along on their little zebras. The imagery is pretty funny. Tragedy has a humor all its own. Thank God.
Experience suffering and we can no longer deceive ourselves. Or deny the lies of others. It's as though this knowledge removes filters to elegant deceptions. Indignant anger turns into cool acceptance.
Our job as successful members of society is to suffer in silence. With a quiet dignity, we wait for this tragedy to pass and its grief to end. Like a red scar, it fades in time. Invisible to all; indelible to us.
We each hurt, wounded inside. Pain is more patient than we are. Loss is inevitable in our lives. We cannot avoid the inexorable truth.
Along our path, we pick up a story to tell. We pray our tale is not told in vain. For others, it remains a secret to keep. A source of shame.
We cannot allow ourselves to become numb. The pain subsides. I promise you. It does. You are not alone.
When we are young, there is tremendous shine on the shell, and a squishy softness in the middle. At some point in maturity, we realize how tender we are on the outside, and how solid is our core. Reality, it seems, turns inside out.
Now you know. The only thing worth fighting for is life itself. Everything else is disposable. Ego, image, vanity. These feints at self-importance are mere delusions and wasteful expenditures.
These lessons came at a cost, though. It is well worth the price I paid. However, it is an involuntary tax imposed on experience.
In the crucible of my time, I asked God "Why me? I'm not Job. I don't matter." The moment was wasted on me. But not for long. It had to matter. This is not for nothing. It can't be.
I started to take an inventory. What was lost? What remains? What next?
Accounting for my meager blessings, I started to be thankful. Then I started seeing goodness all around me. For everything I lost, I regained each of the losses as a tenfold gain. It's as though gratitude is a form of tithing, like mental money.
As I account for the losses, I am amazed at what remains. Good things endure, however ephemeral they seem to be. What survived the storm? Happiness. Love. Talent.
How did these survive? Because they are internal qualities. It is found within me, as if each are a seed in our soul. As such, they can never be taken away. They cannot be given away, either. Only thrown away as ingrattitude.
I thank God every day for what I have. I'm thankful for all that He left for me to rebuild of my life. It's not mansions in paradise and winning lottery tickets, either. But the trials are over, or so it seems. A reprieve is good enough for me.
One thing I know: storm as it might, I'm still standing. Isn't that what we really wonder of ourselves? In the event of a distaster, can I survive? If I survive, will I ever thrive?
Ockham's Razor states that when you hear the sound of hooves - think horses, not zebras. But what if the sound of hooves you hear is The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? That's easy - think zebras, not horses.
Laugh in face of fear. Why not? Imagine the fearsome Pestilence, War, Famine, and Disease clopping along on their little zebras. The imagery is pretty funny. Tragedy has a humor all its own. Thank God.
Invisibility Wastes Womanly Beauty As Human Potential
The hallmark of advanced civilization is its full participation of women in the public sphere. You may find profoundly beautiful women in oppressed regimes. But if you can’t see them about, do they really exist?
Put another way, if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? Is sound generated simply by the compression and expansion of air waves? Or is it sound only when one receives the noise signal?
Bounding women in headscarves or draping them in burqas obscures their beauty to be sure. What's worse, it blots them from public expanse like a swarm of blind spots. An invisible woman is a fallen tree that registers no noise in its ruin, so no one notes its demise.
Obliterating women from view has its place in the lowest levels of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. It is the fight for survival. (Perhaps it occupies its own rung in Dante’s Inferno. This where liars are below thieves for stealing from people the truth.)
Women freed from the toil of securing food, shelter, and security can pursue higher levels of self-fulfillment. And maybe fulfill their purpose here on earth.
Tethered to the fear of daily life keeps women penned as unwanted pets, possessing ideas like animals do instincts.
Put another way, if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? Is sound generated simply by the compression and expansion of air waves? Or is it sound only when one receives the noise signal?
Bounding women in headscarves or draping them in burqas obscures their beauty to be sure. What's worse, it blots them from public expanse like a swarm of blind spots. An invisible woman is a fallen tree that registers no noise in its ruin, so no one notes its demise.
Obliterating women from view has its place in the lowest levels of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. It is the fight for survival. (Perhaps it occupies its own rung in Dante’s Inferno. This where liars are below thieves for stealing from people the truth.)
Women freed from the toil of securing food, shelter, and security can pursue higher levels of self-fulfillment. And maybe fulfill their purpose here on earth.
Tethered to the fear of daily life keeps women penned as unwanted pets, possessing ideas like animals do instincts.
Freedom = Beautiful. Opppression = Ugly.
Strong free market economies with little governmental corruption have the most beautiful women in the world. Oppressed countries have notoriously ugly women.
Russian women today are what Italian women were before. Beautiful, but only after freed from oppression. Imagine what stunning beauties Arab, Persian, and Afghan women will become once tyranny gives way to freedom.
Italian women emerged as renowned beauties after the fall of Fascism, Russians after the fall of Communism. Arabia must shed its shackles from fanatical Wahhibism and America from radical Feminism.
Russian women today are what Italian women were before. Beautiful, but only after freed from oppression. Imagine what stunning beauties Arab, Persian, and Afghan women will become once tyranny gives way to freedom.
Italian women emerged as renowned beauties after the fall of Fascism, Russians after the fall of Communism. Arabia must shed its shackles from fanatical Wahhibism and America from radical Feminism.
For Some Uglies, Beauty Is Do or Die
In Israel, a homely Palestinian girl experienced grave trauma. Jewish doctors saved her life.
A few months after a full recovery, this Palestinian girl intended to destroy the Israeli hospital in which she recovered. She wanted to kill all the Jewish doctors who helped her heal.
Unable to detonate herself in a botched suicide bombing, a reporter asked an important question:
Since Muslim men are rewarded for martyring themselves (as shahids) by having sex with seventy-two virgins in heaven, what reward is there for her as a woman to martyr herself?
She answered with certainty: I will be one of the seventy-two virgins! Because this girl was no beauty in this life, being beautiful is her gift in the afterlife.
All she wants is to be sexually attractive to men. To be lusted over and fought for by men. To create a legacy by having children with a man who desires her.
She can only fulfill this fantasy in a deal with death. Life dealt her cards with a losing hand.
A few months after a full recovery, this Palestinian girl intended to destroy the Israeli hospital in which she recovered. She wanted to kill all the Jewish doctors who helped her heal.
Unable to detonate herself in a botched suicide bombing, a reporter asked an important question:
Since Muslim men are rewarded for martyring themselves (as shahids) by having sex with seventy-two virgins in heaven, what reward is there for her as a woman to martyr herself?
She answered with certainty: I will be one of the seventy-two virgins! Because this girl was no beauty in this life, being beautiful is her gift in the afterlife.
All she wants is to be sexually attractive to men. To be lusted over and fought for by men. To create a legacy by having children with a man who desires her.
She can only fulfill this fantasy in a deal with death. Life dealt her cards with a losing hand.
Wealthy Whites: Dream. Poor Blacks: Nightmare.
The drive for beautiful wives is to have beautiful daughters who can marry up. She will elevate her whole family into higher status through marriage to a wealthy man. Entire families are supported this way.
That’s why when pretty little white girls from gated communities get abducted, it’s 24-7 international news. You’ve shattered the American dream not only for that bereaved family, but for an entire nation whose streets are paved with gold. (At the heels of an elegant woman goes the image.)
A poor black child lost in the abyss of welfare services makes a pitiful appearance at the tail end of a local news break. This is not because America doesn’t cherish its children. It definitely does. But because this juts forth the flip side of the American dream – the American nightmare.
That’s why when pretty little white girls from gated communities get abducted, it’s 24-7 international news. You’ve shattered the American dream not only for that bereaved family, but for an entire nation whose streets are paved with gold. (At the heels of an elegant woman goes the image.)
A poor black child lost in the abyss of welfare services makes a pitiful appearance at the tail end of a local news break. This is not because America doesn’t cherish its children. It definitely does. But because this juts forth the flip side of the American dream – the American nightmare.
Freedom From Oppressive Poverty Is The American Dream
Individuals create more leisure time when freed from the shackles of poverty requiring endless endeavor to sustain a pitiful life.
Countries with individuals who have more leisure time are affluent and often indulgent.
That affluence and indulgence is expressed as hope, creativity and generosity. All truly American traits and attributes of womanly beauty.
A man’s hope is to be with a beautiful woman for whom he’ll create a family and bestow on them all he has to offer.
Fulfilling that is the American Dream.
Countries with individuals who have more leisure time are affluent and often indulgent.
That affluence and indulgence is expressed as hope, creativity and generosity. All truly American traits and attributes of womanly beauty.
A man’s hope is to be with a beautiful woman for whom he’ll create a family and bestow on them all he has to offer.
Fulfilling that is the American Dream.
Win For Losing And Trying Again
Looking your best makes you feel good. Feeling good makes you confident. Confidence makes you win for the challenges you take on.
You win no matter the loss. Loss is nothing but ridding excess. That excess is often fear itself.
Experience gives us gains. Losing is gaining wisdom along the way. You lose nothing that can't be regained. What can't be regained is probably worth losing.
Iron is made strong through being forged with fire. Its ore is merely dust. Challenge is the crucible that forges us into formidable strength.
The fire from the forge that breaks you and makes you is a light that guides others along the path for finding their own strength. You illuminate the challenges on your path that offers others a way to overcome them.
When you lead by example the world follows. Our eyes follow light. Our hearts follow leaders.
All are inspired and the world is made better. The power of personal beauty is its influence in inspiring others.
You win no matter the loss. Loss is nothing but ridding excess. That excess is often fear itself.
Experience gives us gains. Losing is gaining wisdom along the way. You lose nothing that can't be regained. What can't be regained is probably worth losing.
Iron is made strong through being forged with fire. Its ore is merely dust. Challenge is the crucible that forges us into formidable strength.
The fire from the forge that breaks you and makes you is a light that guides others along the path for finding their own strength. You illuminate the challenges on your path that offers others a way to overcome them.
When you lead by example the world follows. Our eyes follow light. Our hearts follow leaders.
All are inspired and the world is made better. The power of personal beauty is its influence in inspiring others.
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