I was 8, or 9, or 10 when I read The Twits by Roald Dahl. I remember reading it aloud to my parents and laughing so hard we cried. My mom still remembers it, and we have an on-going reference to Mr. Twit tucking food into his beard to snack on later.
My sense of humor has changed, apparently, so when I re-read it a couple of months ago, I didn’t find it as funny, rather mean, dark, and a little tedious.
But I still like the illustrations, and I can’t seem to stop pondering this message. In case it’s too blurry to read:
If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly you can hardly bear to look at it.
A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.
True? Not true? I can think of people who radiate beauty because of their personality, kindness, joy, and humor. But I can also think of people I would describe as beautiful who are hounded by self-defeating, negative thoughts.
Still, I think it’s generally true that what people think/feel comes through in how they look. I still remember the face of a woman who simply passed by me on a sidewalk in a small town near Portland. All she did was smile as she passed, but her face! Her smile! Something about her wrinkles and eyes–piercing vivaciousness, even though all she was doing was walking by and smiling in plain, regular clothes, with plain, regular hair.
I thought: I want to be like her. She must live right. She must eat well and love her life. I want to live in a way that makes me look like that!
If I were a better (and more bold) photographer, I’d snap pictures of everyone I find beautiful and post them as an antidote to the same-old-same-old images.
Last example–a boy at the park the other day. I only caught a glimpse of him, and it was during a moment of glee. His caretaker (not sure if it was a mom or nanny or friend) held one hand as he jumped down a tall step and hurried off to something that interested him.
His feet turned inward, his head looked too large for his body, and he spoke in noises instead of words, but he bounced when he moved, his eyes sparkled through thick, round glasses, and his smile stretched wide. If I had to assign one word to him, it would be: bright.
It was as if he carried his own light around with him. That’s the kind of beauty I want to cultivate.