Eye Of The Beholder

In January, days before departing for Mexico, I had my fingernails professionally coated with a sizzling orange polish, to prepare me for the heat to come. As the manicurist worked her magic, she asked about my bold, off-season color choice. I explained I'd soon be in Tulum, and the brightness matched my mood about the adventure. The customer next to me chimed in, "Oh, my best friend just returned from Tulum. She said it's the most beautiful place on earth." I'll admit, my inner snarky voice asked, "Well where else has she been?" Politely, my mouth said, "Then I look forward to it all the more."

Our first few days in Mexico, the skies were cloudy with sporadic rain showers. This provided a chance to stock up the house for our stay, catch up on sleep, and drive around the area getting the lay of the land. Despite the weather, we craved a beach sighting...maybe even a walk in the rain, with sand between our toes. Mark found a coastal road that appeared to hug the Caribbean sea, and off we went. However, two hours later, we found ourselves at an early dinner, without having spied a single strip of beach.

Fences and walls blocking the beach in Tulum.

Upon our arrival, our Airbnb host shared her experience of Tulum. At the turn of the century, when she moved to the area, there existed only a tiny village sprinkled with Mayans and Italians. Now, nearly 20 years later, "Everything is a mess. People keep coming, and the systems in place cannot keep up," she explained. On that narrow road, abutting the shore, we saw wall - after privacy fence - after wall, each protecting the sanctuary of the many resorts located directly on the beach, masking the natural beauty to passersby.

The next day, we found access to the beach. Despite the continued overcast sky, we strolled the sands in the opposite direction from the day before (only to find more resorts in the other direction). I can imagine, in the sunlight, the water must have gleamed a brilliant aqua, contrasting stunningly with the buff colored grains. Years ago, when the waters edge was free of commercial ventures, it must have been wildly gorgeous. While I have an interest in visiting Tulum again, to experience a few things we didn't get to this time, I'd be hard pressed to name it "most beautiful." But what does that really mean?

Several years ago, I stopped watching any award shows. I still make note of the film nominees, because I love a good movie, and those nominations serve as indicators. However, when I truly integrated this truth:

"comparison is an act of violence,"

I refused to participate, even as a witness. When I speak this phrase (adopted from Iyanla Vanzant), I'm often met with a look of puzzlement.

How is comparison an act of violence? Inherently, those parties being compared are dismissed. It's a way of saying, what someone or something uniquely offers isn't enough. Often, we compare others to ourselves, and the message sent equals: I am not enough...my gifts or contributions are unworthy of love, acceptance, and merit...or at least not as much as that person. What a blistering voice, sharing a mean, inaccurate assessment! Simultaneously, the other person - the winner of the contest - doesn't get truly seen as him/herself either. How can any individual be fully seen, accepted, and loved for who they are, if they are always in some sort of competition with another? They cannot. And that, too, marks the violence of comparison.

The reality: my gifts are different from yours. They are not better or worse. They are uniquely mine, even if we label them with the same banner, just as yours are uniquely yours. My gifts, my voice, my body, my home, my choice of husband are NOT yours to critique. They are not even MINE to critique. Each simply is. And what I've been learning to trust, is that I am here to make a contribution that only I can make, just as you are. I am not meant to know the breadth of my impact, only that impact occurs because of how I enter the world, and the choices I make. This is true of all of us - of all things.

Gandoca Beach, Costa Rica

If we circle back to Tulum, I'll admit, it's not my favorite place on earth. It doesn't need to be. For me, it has its own specialness, just as it is. Are there places that resonate with my soul differently? Absolutely! I feel a life force flow through me like no place else I've been, when I am in the jungle of Playa Chiquita, Costa Rica, and I experience a power center of the earth when I stand on the black sands of Gandoca beach. Looking into the eyes of a magical cheetah, who granted me permission to rub his head, or another who leapt into my arms as a cub, inviting me to hold him like a baby - these life altering experiences in South Africa (and many more) weave their own magnificent, matchless threads into the fabric of my being. Just as standing in clear, warm waters at Hawk's Nest beach (in St. John) talking with a dear friend, while a beautiful fish danced around my body, soon followed by a surprise visit from our four other friends, arriving not-so-stealthily by inflatable boat to visit with us, cannot be considered better or worse than chatting with a kangaroo in my back yard, when travelling in Australia.

Do you see what I'm saying? There are absolutely people I enjoy more than others, places that speak the language of my soul, foods that light up my tongue and leave sparkles behind, as others do not. Still, I seek to eliminate the violence of comparison by finding an authentic appreciation for each experience, for each interaction, and for each part of myself, even as I admire someone else's talent, ideas, or beauty. Theirs is not better or worse, just as mine is not. Each is an extraordinary, unique contribution, for which I am grateful.

Last year, I made it to the cinemas many times (I love when that happens), and my favorite film was Green Book. Am I comparing it to Bohemian Rhapsody, Ben is Back, RBG, Instant Family, or Vice? No, I just loved seeing Green Book on Christmas Eve with my husband, and was both surprised and delighted by the film. It captured a corner of my heart that night. And for varying reasons, so did every other film I listed. I believe we get to name something that speaks to us as a favorite, without it being compared to another. If Green Book had been the only film I saw last year, it would not have been any less my favorite - do you see? Because its beauty lies in the eyes of this beholder. I simply see and appreciate what it offered to me. I did the same with Tulum, for the wonderful local woven art, and amazing fresh tuna tostadas, and scrumptious grilled chicken found in a tiny neighboring village.

I invite you to try on the practice of crowding out comparison. Begin by finding one thing you appreciate...about your body, about your colleague, about your dinner last night, about the political party you don't support. Allow yourself to fully see the individual experience. In turn, discover an unexpected learning, invite a new kind of connection, witness beauty in a different form - all while eliminating acts of violence through comparison. You might regard this as a quest for treasure! May you behold much beauty in your journey, even as what you see is different from what I see.

With love,
Joanne Lutz