I haven’t been writing lately, even though it’s what I long to do. It seems each day there's too long a list of things that I have to do first. Take yesterday’s list, for example: Prepare Powerpoints for next week’s classes for the three college courses I teach, evaluate the sixty papers my students turned in last week. Tend my Facebook and Goodreads and SheWrites accounts to try to drum up readers for my book. Help my just- about-to-graduate daughter with a resume to launch a job search. Write thank yous to Eileen, Nan and Kathryn. Shop for food, mow the lawn, do the laundry. Fold the stack of newsletters at church. Then I received an email from a friend who’s in the middle of writing a book: I would like to add you into the "Beautiful Women" section of my manuscript. It's a section of short answers to any or all of these questions: What is beauty to you? Talk about your own relationship with beauty. Are you beautiful? What part of you is the most beautiful? What does beauty mean in our culture? The only deal is I need it asap. Tomorrow? No worries if you can't. I 'm sure you're super busy. Please . . .thanks. A. And so, I glared up at the ceiling: What’s in any of this for me? Still I checked off the items on my list, then turned to A’s request: I’ve never been physically beautiful. My eyes are too small and close together, hair too limp, legs too short and plump. When I was young, I tried to mask these defects—putting makeup on my face, perming my hair, Jazzercizing my body. But the cosmetics and chemicals felt phony, and didn’t improve my looks, and though I discovered I loved the dancing, my body remained poorly formed. Now that I’ve grown older, I’ve given up on bodily beauty and seek the incorporeal kind. It’s a beauty I’ve seen in other people—those who’ve learned to give without expecting payment, popularity, kudos or love. This beauty seems even harder to accomplish than the beauty I craved when I was young. But in those rare moments when I grasp it, I know how beautiful feels. That task behind me, I’d like to thank you, A. Not only did I finally do some writing, but for a moment, I felt beautiful. Now I hope to multiply the favor. If anyone out there reads this—Tell me, what does beauty mean to you? Jan Vallone http://www.janvallone.com/