Why I got a tattoo

When I told my mother I was getting a tattoo right after our visit ended, she didn’t mince words.

“At your age?!” Mom replied, loudly enough that the woman next to us in the nail salon reacted with a quiet chuckle.

“Yep,” I told her. I felt resolute. Mostly, anyway.

Mom wasn’t happy about it, which I had anticipated. Tattoos will never be her thing. But I had hoped that once I told her that the art would be loosely inspired by a painting by my late father’s late mother that she might soften.

After I told her about my tattoo appointment, the mood darkened and I felt regretful. We’d been having such a nice time, our first day together after more than five long months apart due to COVID19 fears (mine, mostly). We had enjoyed an outdoor lunch of tacos and margaritas at Casa Publica before going for manicures, all while wearing masks of course.

My mom is in her seventies, but strong, fit, healthy and active. I mean, look at her!

Since this all began, I’d had a standing invitation to return to my family home in northeastern PA, but I was scared to do so and overwhelmed by the arrangements I would need to make. Instead I opted to stay in NYC, choosing the company of Egg, fast wifi for working from home, a multitude of restaurants willing to deliver to me at any hour of the day and a doctor who knows my wonky immune system over the comforts of Mom and home.

It was a decision I’d question periodically, unlike my decision to get the tattoo.

Friends who have known me since college or the years just after would tell you that it’s more surprising that I made it this far without getting a tattoo than the fact that I got a tattoo in 2020. I always knew I would get one some day but time passed and I failed to figure out the what and the where. That version of me had energy and verve. I could be a little wild. It’s probably better that I waited to do anything permanent to my body.

But people who only know me from more recent years are definitely going to be surprised. With each passing year, I have found myself acting a little more serious and a lot less fun. Words like “I’m so old” started escaping my lips with regularity and I suspect it impacted how I was perceived. Over time, I started feeling invisible.

Even before the isolation of COVID19, I knew I wanted to make changes to my life in an effort to reclaim parts of myself that seemed to be fading. It was only in the silence of recent months that I could take the time I needed to start shaking off the limitations I had placed upon myself. I also took the space to fully grieve the pain of the last five years—in particular, the lingering ache of my father’s death, my own health scare and navigating my new relationship with my mother.

It was during these months when I was mostly alone that I realized that the inspiration for my tattoo was right in front of me. If you’ve read this post about my late paternal grandmother, you know that she lived a hard life, but that, in the end, she made her own beauty.

For me, this tattoo is a reminder of beauty but also a nudge to stop waiting to find my own.

And here it is, my tattoo by the wonderfully talented Hannah Kang. That Hannah is from Korea is a lovely connection as well.

Tattoo