I hated roses. I hated them for being so trite, so clichéd, a default, all-purpose flower that said I love you, I'm sorry, and get well soon. Give me peonies and tulips, orchids or gardenia. Those were flowers with character.

Safe, I decided, didn't leave much room for fun.

What was so miraculous about a relationship that was based more on my gratitude than on mutual self respect?

[True beauty] seeps into you. It doesn't make you forget yourself, but totally the opposite. It connects you with everything and fills you with awe that you share the same space with something that glorious. Like a sunrise or a clear blue day or the most extraordinary piece of glass. And then suddenly...you have this epiphany that there's more to the world than just you and what you want or even who you are.

What would it be like to look in the mirror and actually accept what you see? Not loathe the reflection, or despise it, or be resigned to it? But to like it?

Maybe we don't have the same definition of about what's beautiful. So define it. Define true beauty.

If Jacob was right and clothes were costumes and makeup a mask, then our attitudes and habits must be our shields.