“Tattoos have a power and magic all their own. They decorate the body but they also enhance the soul.” ― Michelle Delio
I thought for certain when I got my tattoo it would be the only one. I mean, I’ve loved the idea of tattoos since I was a teenager, but could never imagine putting something on my body permanently that didn’t have significant meaning. It took me ten years to work up to the one I have so I couldn’t imagine getting another any time soon.
And then I left with my wrist stinging and my endorphins surging and I ate Mexican food while my brain tried to come up with another way to get my body back in that chair. Everyone I know that has a tattoo had said, “You’ll want another one as soon as you leave the chair. They’re addictive.” And it’s true.
There’s something cathartic about it. Something cleansing. In exchange for the sting and the slight burn of the needle I can let go of some of the ugly I’m carrying around and replace it with art.
It’s been two years since I had the word family (in Farsi, in my dad’s handwriting) tattooed onto my wrist. Two years of hearing songs that struck a cord somewhere deep inside me with new ears. Looking at art and seeing possibility. Coming up with ways to permanently mark the important things in my life. In two years I’ve planned four tattoos. (Sorry, MOM!) One of which is much larger than I ever imagined I would have the guts to go. It also has no special meaning, it’s just really damn pretty. I’m going to tweak it a bit, add in some things, eventually fill it with bright, bold colors.
But for now, while I save my pennies, I’ll just be over here, looking at all the pretty.
Do you have a tattoo? I’d love to hear your story.