Unwritten
When I first started this blog back in 2018, the purpose was to discuss my bucket list. That initial premise quickly evolved into addressing things like my feet, concerts, and the patriarchy, which is why it’s taken me awhile to share anything I’ve crossed off until now.
For the better part of 20 years I’ve wanted a tattoo. Initially, I thought I’d get one in college until I remembered I had no money and very few ideas of what I wanted or where. Had I had the extra cash, however, I probably would have figured it out, which is the only reason I’m thankful I was broke in college. Otherwise, I could have ended up with the Chinese symbol for laughter on my lower back that an international classmate designed for me one day in freshman world history. Thinking back, the symbol could have easily stood for donkey. Like all 18-year-olds, I was an idiot.
Since then, a tattoo has never been too far from my mind, but again, I could never land on a design or the right placement or a time when I could make it work. My husband also isn’t a huge fan of tattoos and, since he has never nor will ever have any ink, a tattoo wasn’t something I coveted when we got married like I did our new glassware.
It wasn’t until my early 30s that I decided to give myself the deadline of 40; by the time I turned 40 I would get a tattoo. So today, at nearly 39-and-a-half-years-old, I crossed off a long awaited item from my bucket list and I got my first tattoo.
The concept came to me shortly after my last birthday in the midst of a global pandemic. While reflecting one night in January 2021 on who I am and who I hope to always be, I arrived at the conclusion that I am a writer. Since March of 2020, I have spent the better part of every day writing or editing (mostly for work). And while I won’t discuss exactly what I do professionally, let’s just say that for the last 16 months I’ve worked very long hours processing a lot of fuzzy and ever-changing guidance and crafting it into practical and efficient messaging that eventually becomes policy. In short, I make shit up and make it sound good, too.
On a more personal and sustainable level, from private journals to research papers, published articles to my graduate thesis, works of literary journalism to this blog, the written word is what has and always will get me through. I may not be the best at it, and some days I may hate it more than I hate Edible Arrangements or cauliflower, but writing is what I do and it’s what I like to think defines me best. And so, after many years of contemplation, I decided the only way to articulate it visually on my body was with a simple pencil (only after realizing a 500-word blog post wouldn’t quite fit).
Deciding on the placement is what took the most time. I’ll spare you the various locations I took under consideration because it was the words of a friend that resonated with me the most: “Get it somewhere you can see it; if you get it anywhere else it’s not for you. You’ve waited this long, now get something you can look at every day.” This very good advice is what led me to my forearm.
Today, what worried me the most when walking into my scheduled appointment with the very talented Erika Meller of Yours Truly Studio was if I was in fact making the right choice to get my first tattoo and whether I could tolerate the pain. Both concerns, as it turns out, were just plain silly.
Because when my friend Kayla and I walked in and Ramble on Rose was playing loudly throughout the studio and Erika placed the stencil she created on my arm, I knew I was making the right choice.
The pain, as it turns out, really wasn’t that bad. I always thought I had a pretty low tolerance for pain based on my frenzied need for an epidural just 11 hours into a 26-hour labor, but now I’m confident any other woman would have demanded an epidural under similar circumstances. The tattooing process was a nice reminder that I can withstand more than I ever thought I could, and knowing your threshold for pain is never a bad thing.
