I pissed off a friend the other day: I called her “beautiful.”

She was truly irked at my remark, shoving it away with, “I don’t care about that. I’ve never cared.” She had more to say—some of it I heard, and some I didn’t, as I was busy scolding myself, wishing I could take it all back.

I might have taken exception to her response, assuring myself that she has the luxury of not caring because she is, quite simply and objectively, a person with a lovely countenance, whereas I usually look and feel like an under-bridge-dwelling troll. But the truth is, I said something repugnant to her; I was in the wrong–and immediately, I knew why.

As soon as the word came out of my mouth, I regretted the choice. Yes, she has a great face but that wasn’t the point. What I was honestly remarking on was her essence, her radiance. That would have been the more appropriate word: despite whatever challenges internal and external she may have been grappling with, her radiance was undiminished. I should have said that. Or maybe I should have shut my mouth and said nothing. Maybe I should do that now.

Ugh. I am still thinking about this, days later, because in trying to lift her, I cut her down. I irked her; I don’t like irking people, so I’m having a hard time letting it go. More than that, I am kicking myself because words matter, and the word I chose was quick and easy, but it wasn’t correct. Yes, she looks fabulous, and I love looking at her, but that is not what makes her exceptional. The word I used not only pissed her off, but also hijacked my compliment, turning it into something vapid and trivial—turning her into something vapid and trivial. And that is definitely not what I was trying to do. That is why I was in the wrong.

Why say anything at all, you ask? Why not just take my own advice [see above] and STFU? Because my friend is wondrous, and I don’t know why, but I want her to hear that. Maybe that is selfish, but when someone is extraordinary, shouldn’t you tell them? Also, I need to prove that I am better than that remark–that I am not as vapid and trivial as the word I used.

Maybe “pretty” and “beautiful” have devolved into nothing-words, like “interesting”, so over-used and generic as to be annoying and meaningless, mere placeholders for more expressive descriptors. Maybe it’s time to find words with as much resonance and depth as the person we are describing.

So, at the risk of making the same mistake twice, I would like to try this again.

Friend,

You shared that you were out of sorts, but I want you to know that even with all you are managing—none of it light or easy—your magnificence is undimmed. You are incandescent. Magnetic. Sparkling. Sublime. Even on a shitty day. Also, generous, smart, talented–I could go on; I won’t.  

Furthermore, you could put a bag over your head and you would still be all of these things because none of them are about how you look, but how you illuminate the world around you.

You astonish me, and sharing your company is pure joy.

This may seem superficial and frivolous, but it’s actually an important reminder that if I’m not attentive, the words can fall out the wrong way. Careful there.

© 2025 Anne Murphy and thewordsfallout.com. All rights reserved.

Photo by Cristian Escobar on Unsplash