I want to share with you a beauty secret I recently discovered.  The single element that will make heads turn, regardless of your weight, age, or ability to pull together a decent outfit.  The secret is Joy.

Walt and I were at The Sunken Garden Poetry Festival  a few summers ago. Held in a little flower garden behind a small art museum, the event is a lovely excuse for folks to break out their picnic baskets, spread moth-eaten blankets, light Yankee candles, and sit out under the stars while listening to poetry and music.

That’s when I saw her.

She was sitting on a wooden bench in the central gazebo, a singer waiting for her cue to join the jazz quartet performing on stage.  Her eyes half-closed, her bare foot swaying lazily to the beat, her head tilted back ever so slightly, the music seemed to possess her the way a lover might. I leaned over to point her out to Walt, and found that he was equally transfixed.

When she slid off the bench and appeared onstage I could feel my breath catch. Eyes closed now, hips taking over the languid rhythm, a Mona Lisa smile playing on full lips, she began to sing.

The words and the notes seemed to come from a secret pool within. And every man, woman, and child stopped what they were doing to take her in.  A young woman—unremarkable in nearly every other way—made irresistible by the unabashed pleasure she felt in that moment.

I thought about this African American 20-year-old that fall.  We were at a Tony Robbins conference—Walt and I—when I noticed another woman with this very same magnetic draw.  In a room of one thousand people bouncing in the aisles, strobe lights flashing overhead, dance music blaring, a 30-something-year-old woman stood out from all the rest.  Focused, as expectant as a jackrabbit ready to spring, her body feeding off of the frenetic energy swirling around us, this woman seemed to be anticipating the time of her life.

As the long days drew on, I could tell that she was getting everything that she’d bargained for, perhaps 10X more.

The joy that she radiated made her drop dead gorgeous.

Do you know what gives you pleasure?  Do you remember what you enjoy?  Can you remember the last time you lost yourself in the music, or the activity, or the moment?

Once in a while I’ll sit on the couch and flip through old family albums.  Photos of myself astonish me, particularly those snapped in my early 20’s.  I look so grim. Anne Frank the minute before being seized by the Nazis.  I think it’s because I had no clue what I liked to do.  I had no dreams, or goals, or desires, outside of being loved.

The ones of me in Iran aren’t much better.  The only things missing: the cigarette between my lips, my wrists tied behind my back, and the blindfold.

Something starts to change in my running photos. At 35, there’s a lightness of being: an arm thrown over the shoulder of a friend, a flirty smile, a steady hand balanced on one hip.  I look sweaty. And beautiful.  I look like I’m having the time of my life, because I am.

Walt takes loads of pictures when we go to Ireland.  I study myself lying in the grass, my arms outstretched, like I’m making snow angels. I look so peaceful. So grounded. I know it’s because I love the quiet I find there, the green.  The only things I can hear are the buzz of the bees in the trees.  The clanking of cows bells.  The drone of a plow.  Perfection for an introvert like me.

It took a long time to figure out what I like.  What doesn’t work for me. What satisfies my nature; or irritates it.  I had to experiment, try things I normally wouldn’t have tried.

Here is a short list of things that cause my ears to perk up and my tail to wag:

Long bike rides across foreign countries
Mountain trekking
Swimming across lakes
Writing
Reading
Flying helicopters (I’ve only done it once, but, man…)
Running

And those things that send me scrounging for the cyanide tab:

Tourist buses
Shopping malls
Religious services
Board meetings
Cocktail parties
Broadway shows
Mimes and/or Liza Minnelli (I have no idea why)

I talk to a lot of women’s groups about the importance of reconnecting with our dreams and desires.  Because, as nurturers, we tend to forget what gives us pleasure.  We’re so busy taking care of everyone else—seeing that our kids, partners, bosses, and friends get their needs met—that we forget about ourselves. (Yes, men are often guilty of this, too.) And I find that it’s universally embarrassing to admit that you don’t have the faintest clue what rocks your world.

It’s vital to know what you enjoy.  Something in the Universe shifts when you do what you love. When you become so engrossed you lose all track of time. You become beautiful. You become that person all eyes are drawn to.