#4 - Get Another Tattoo

<<Sorry, Mom.>>

Growing up, my first memory of tattoos is of reading Wayside School Is Falling Down where a character gets a tattoo of a potato on their big toe.  Ever since then, the question, "If you were going to get a tattoo, what would you get and where?" fascinates me.

I would ask my friends.  My family.  My boyfriends.  Choosing a symbol that you could commit to, and the placement of that symbol, can say so much about a person.

(Side note: Throughout this phase of thinking about tattoos, I lived in Michigan, where the question really was usually "IF..."  Now, living in California, asking about tattoos usually launches you in a very deep, personal conversation, even with strangers.  I'm still in awe of how common they are out here.)

It would infuriate me when people close to me wouldn't answer the question.  When someone would say, "I wouldn't get one," I would insist: "But if you HAD to get one, what would it be... and where?  ... No, but if you HAD to!"

The funny part of that conversation was that I didn't know myself what I would get or where.  Maybe that's why I was so curious.  I would think long and hard and then I would always have the same answer: "I could never get a tattoo because there's nothing in existence that I will always like forever."  Therefore, tattoos weren't for me.

But then one day, in my 30's, I thought, "Oh, except sharks.  I will always love sharks."  That thought was quickly followed by, "Oh, well, then I guess I should get a tattoo of a shark."

I spent a couple years thinking about the tattoo, where I would get it, and researching designs online.  One day, I found THE design.  I decided I would get it on my right side, on my upper ribs.  I then researched parlors in Chicago, where I lived at the time, decided on a place where I knew a couple people really liked.  I looked online, found an artist, and contacted her.  She responded.  I chickened out.

Soon after, in 2012, my cousin Brandon died by suicide.  Two days later, I had a dream that I got a tattoo of a red heart, with a black outline, on my right wrist.  The design had some kind of strong, black, swirly lines coming from it, but it didn't seem finished.  In my dream, I associated that tattoo with Brandon, and there was additional meaning I could not yet name.  It had a feeling of being raw, honest, open, of exposing love and pain, of wearing my heart on my sleeve.  At the time, I was completely uncomfortable talking about my emotions or appearing "emotional," but at this moment in my life, I realized how important it can be for the world to show and witness real emotions.

I told myself that once I got my shark tattoo, after a year, if I still wanted the heart, I would get it.  But the heart on its own didn't feel right.  I am not a heart person.  Or a color red person.  Neither fit my style or personality.  Yet.

I moved to San Diego in August 2012.  Here, EVERYONE has a tattoo.  Well, it seems like it anyways.  And they're awesome.  And beautiful.

By May, I had found 2 classmates who also wanted to get tattoos.  Tara wanted to build on an existing tattoo and Grace already had several tattoos and wanted to start a large back tattoo to physically mark her growth through our doctoral program.

We searched online for tattoo parlors, but there are so many here that going in person to visit seemed like a better bet.  One Sunday afternoon, I was quite hungover, and Tara called me to see if I wanted to walk the tattoo parlors in her neighborhood (South Park).  (There is such a demand for tattoos in San Diego that there are multiple reputable parlors in most neighborhoods.)

We went to Full Circle first.  A woman greeted us, told us to peruse the artists' books, and then told us that James had a cancellation and could fit us in.  Right then.  Now.

I was not prepared for that.  But then I thought, and probably said, "You know?  If I don't just do it now, when am I going to do it?  Why not now?"

So Tara described her design to James, I e-mailed mine from my phone, and we went to get tea while he sketched them out.  Then got tatted up.  (The full story here.)

I had the shark tattooed on my left ribs because my heart tattoo in my dream was on my right wrist.  While I am not a person of symmetry, I am a person of balance.  I also got my left tragus (ear) pierced in 2014 and did that on my left side as well, knowing it would help balance the tattoo I had yet to get on my right wrist.

I've had my shark tattoo for over two and a half years now.  I love it.  I look at it often.  Admire it.  Show it off whenever I can, any excuse.  I buy clothes that might show hints of it.  When people ask about tattoos, I pull up my shirt to show them, even though I put it in that spot precisely because not many people would see it.

In January 2014, I went with a class to Sri Lanka.  When I signed up for the course, I didn't even know where Sri Lanka was.  I just knew that if I needed to take a class for my international requirement, I was going to go somewhere I would never, ever chose to go on my own.

After signing up, I learned a bit more about Sri Lanka.  I became fascinated by Buddhism, one of the more prominent religions in Sri Lanka.  I read (most of) several books about Buddhism and meditation (some required some not) before traveling.

I was most fascinated by the concept of Metta: loving-kindness.  The best way I can describe Metta is that it is a deep, authentic love for everything and everyone, including oneself.  In a Metta meditation, one often conjures the love they know they have, the type of love that come easy: love for one's family, close friends, mentors...  Then, one channels that love into themselves, loving themselves so that they can better love their loved ones.  Then, one channels that love onto others, the earth, strangers, enemies.  The idea is that if we love everything more, inside and outside of ourselves, we'll be kinder, to others and ourselves, and kindness makes the world a better place.  And then eventually, we accept that we are all the same, we are love, and love is everything, and we lose our attachment to the world, including our loved ones.  We don't love them in particular because they are us and we are all part of the same whole, so there's no reason to love one part of it more than another.  Everything is already a part of us and we are a part of everything.

Well, that's how I think of Metta, and that is what was sitting with me when we arrived.  Within 24 hours, we were told that a Buddhist monk from Malaysia would be leading a children's meditation in the Peace Center we were visiting.  We were told to go by at that time, not to tell we were sent, but to see if we would be invited into the meditation.

During that meditation, the monk led us through a Metta meditation.  He had us conjure our parents, our teachers, ourselves, each in turn, and to wish them to be well and happy.  In my head, I saw myself holding each person close, embracing them with all of my love, and then releasing them so they could bound off to be well, happy, and fulfill their purposes in life, regardless of whether that purpose included me.

But then my mind drifted.  I thought of my cousin.  I thought of my aunt and uncle.  I thought of how maybe they could accept that Brandon was a part of them that is no longer here and yet is here forever.  That they could maybe let go, knowing that.  But then I thought of what else Metta implied.  And it implied that to achieve Nirvana, they would also need to let go of each other and everyone else, and that thought caused me pain.  It made me think of how Brandon exists in me, how his life represents parts of my life, his death represents the parts of me that cause me pain, intentionally, even though I know I am capable of so much good.  And strangely, I thought of how it might be easier to let go of our parents and children, accepting they are part of us, but how impossible it seemed to let go of someone you chose to love, a partner.  I wondered how it could be possible to choose someone in love and then to accept that love so much you let them go.  And I wondered how that could possibly be kind.

Soon after, I told my trip roommate Maria that I couldn't stay present in the meditation and instead drifted to some heavy things.  A couple nights later, I sobbed and told my roommate Maria all of this in our hotel room.  This is the first time I've spoken of all of it since then.

During that meditation, tears streamed down my face, but I also had a vision.  I saw on my wrist, a red heart with a black outline and wings.  I saw it as a symbol of Metta.  I saw a light, open heart that loves and is kind no matter what.

I told my friend Allie that I was embarrassed that during a CHILDREN'S meditation, I cried, had a vision, and I wondered if the wings were the unfinished part of the tattoo I had seen in my dream.  She said, "You mean like the necklace you've been wearing the whole time?"

I bought my heart-with-wings Boma necklace in 2010 while visiting San Diego.  A few months later I lost it.  When I moved to San Diego, I went back to the same shop, and they didn't have it anymore but told me I could find it online, which I did.  I wore it all the time.  It was the only jewelry I wore in Sri Lanka.

Despite my disdain for the color red, it was important the heart was red because the heart needed to be full.  Despite my anxiety at having a visible tattoo, it had to be visible because of the pressure I imagined for myself to hide my emotions.  Despite my indifference to the symbols of hearts and wings years before, I wore them and dreamed of them until I could one day name the meaning they held for me.

Still, I waited.  I was too nervous to get a visible tattoo.

While we were in Sri Lanka, two monks (including the one who had led the children's meditation) had tied strings with blessings onto our wrists.  I told myself that once they fell off, I would get my tattoo.

They had been getting strained, and about three weeks ago, I snagged them on a piece of my desk at home and they snapped off.  I knew it was time, even more so because I kept moving the absent strings, like I did in the almost 2 years I had them, out of the way when I typed or washed my hands.  I felt like I was missing something that had become part of me.

I had been searching artists, already feeling it was near time.  Because the tattoo would be so small and artists tend to post mostly their larger work online, I searched artists that had feminine work.  The artist I wanted had a 6+ month waiting list.  She was at Full Circle, where I got my first tattoo done.  I stopped there one afternoon.  They told me any artist there could do it and asked me to look through the books.  I found Michelle's book and loved her feminine work.  When I looked up reviews of the studio on line, I found a lot of positive posts and beautiful pictures of her clean, feminine, symmetrical work.  I made an appointment and put down a deposit.

The day before, I had a stressful day.  I then had a minor freak out about what I was doing.  I couldn't believe I was going to get a very visible tattoo.  I told myself I had to look for a job soon and I questioned whether it could negatively impact my job search.

Then I called Grace, who had her tattoo appointment the following day to build on the back tattoo she had been getting since our first year.  She completely calmed me.  In our conversation I was able to step outside myself and realize that I was questioning something I wanted because I was afraid of what the world MIGHT think of me sometime in the future.  I reminded myself that I didn't do things (or not do them) because of what people think.  I wanted to be the person who is authentic, loving, kind, and brave enough to put those things into the world visibly and confidently.  The message this tattoo carried was important to me.  I would greet the world with kindness.  I would be kind to myself.  I would see it as a reminder to be mindful, loving, and kind in all of my actions.

I sent Michelle photos I had found online near to what I wanted but I hadn't seen the design yet (part of what fueled my anxiety).  When I went to my appointment, she had a sketch prepared that was really strikingly beautiful... but not what I wanted.  She patiently listened to my alterations and within 20 minutes brought out the perfect design.


I am so grateful and thankful that my friend Mariko Peshon asked to be there and actually rearranged her schedule to be with me.  It meant so much to me that she showed up to be there for something that held so much meaning for me.  Plus, I was nervous, and I had talked about my tattoo often enough, that hearing her confirm my thoughts on design and size made me smile and realize how happy I was in the moment.

Michelle was quick, but more importantly, did beautiful work.  The tattoo is incredibly clean and appears so symmetrical that it takes close examination to see any flaw at all, despite its small size.  Everyone I've shown it to remarks that it's beautiful and/or very clean, even Grace's tattoo artist this morning who was preparing to do his third addition to her back tattoo.

Already it's reminded me to respond with love and kindness even when my initial reactions do not contain either.

I also feel balanced.  My shark -- my toughness, my focus, my depth, my lack of emotion -- on one side of me and my heart with wings -- my softness, my openness, my sensitivity, my love, my kindness, my hurt -- on the other.  Balance without symmetry.  Love.