My two weeks in Morocco have been overflowing with new sights, aromas and insights into myself and the world around me. Splashes of color, care and sacredness touch everything, from shapes of doorways to the placement of buildings and the flavors of food. I keep diving deeper into the aesthetic around elaborate inner spaces, both personal and shared.

The wonderful Moroccans believe that inner beauty is much more important than outer beauty. In fact, one must conceal outer uniqueness to support a sense of sameness amongst the community. What lies within, however, is a different story. Inside the home, concealed by a small plain door, or underneath the layers of fabric that hide the body, sometimes all but the eyes, dwells all the splendor that has been carefully cultivated.

In both the big cities and small villages, there exists a very wide range of affluence in the same neighborhood, but all houses look nearly identical from the outside. One can never know when opening the door whether there will be multiple levels of opulent splendor, or one small room with a dirt floor. They don’t try to one-up their neighbors, and they don’t tie their self-worth to what is being revealed to the world. It all lies within.

I am especially tickled to hear that Victoria’s Secret, the lingerie store, opened in Morocco before France, because the women here, underneath their shapeless frocks, are meticulously well kept. I’d heard this before, but it is confirmed during this trip to Morocco.

Initially, I want to run in the streets and scream, “Tear off your cloaks, squash the oppressor, express yourself!!” (Complete, of course, with a little Madonna-type vogue-ing to the 80s song.) What would happen, I begin to wonder, if I turn it around and make myself beautiful for the people I love, while simplifying my outer life? The thought of saving the best of myself for my loved ones begins to grow on me as I remember how the ones closest to me often get the worst of me. My public face is kind, coiffed and altogether together, but in private there’s a tired, grumpy girl who sometimes wears nothing but pajamas for days on end.

What a beautiful ideal, I think, even while knowing how antithetical it is to the western way of being, where the most important factor for many is what things look like – what you look like, what your house looks like, what your car looks like, how much you can express your success. Of course, there are so many of us who eschew that ideal but its existence cannot be denied.

I’ve worked so hard to perfect my inner game knowing that the results will always manifest in the outer world. But what if it were only about the inner game? What if who I was on the outside didn’t matter, not even one little bit, to the people who really matter? Part of me so wants this to be true, because I, like most of us, want to be seen from the inside. I want to be known for who I am and not what I look like or what I’ve accomplished, or even how fancy my car or my rings are.

It’s a question that keeps bouncing around during the entirety of my journey. Not that I have the answer, but like everything, perhaps it lies in some uniquely designed middle way.

I am very thankful that a burka is most likely not in my future, but then again, my daily uniform of yoga pants and a baggy sweater might not be that far off in terms of making myself invisible. As I prepare for the end of the journey, I look forward to hugging my daughter so hard she squeals, and kissing my lover, and telling and re-telling all the stories of my wild adventures in North Africa. And maybe, I’ll even dress up a bit when I see them.

What part of your beautiful self are you keeping only for your public life? Tell me in the comments below.