Tattoos are seemingly everywhere. They are proudly displayed on body parts of every age, skin color, and ethnicity. I attended a wedding recently and was seated at a table of 30-somethings. All women, except for the husband of one of the women. One of those 30-somethings was my own daughter. These women were all professionals in one form or fashion. Two of the women were having a discussion about tattoos.
Do you have a tattoo? If so, what is it and why did you choose it?
Let me know in the comments below!
As they got up to take pictures with the bride who had stopped by our table, I noticed tattoos near their ankles. One also had a tattoo on the inside of her right wrist. Some were religious and some were symbols of nature. All of the visible tattoos were tasteful and appeared to be artfully done.
Two of my closest friends have them in places where they are not visible to the general public, in fact, I’ve never even seen them. One has a shamrock on her hip. The other has an angel as a remembrance of her grandparents.
I don’t have a tattoo. Off and on I’ve half-heartedly thought about what I would get IF I ever decided to get one. An open book. A quatrefoil. A fountain pen. A fleur de lis. A whisk. A thistle. These are all symbols that mean something to me. But, I don’t think I really want a tattoo, not to mention my fear of the needle involved.
Jodi Picoult recently wrote an essay for Lit Hub explaining how she chose to mark her 60th birthday. She really didn’t want to be 60. She described it as “feeling an unshakeable dread.” She went on to say that she has a great life, happily married with three adult children who are married, happy, and healthy. She has three grandchildren. And, if you don’t recognize the name, Jodi Picoult is a VERY successful novelist. Her thirtieth (30!!!) novel is just out.
The essay is—no surprise here—very well written. I read it with my own small sense of dread as my own BIG birthday is under two weeks away. Unlike Jodi Picoult, however, mine is a much larger number, and I am not so happy about it. In fact, I have been unable to say the number out loud.
Picoult’s essay covers a lot of ground. She touches on the injustice of aging women becoming invisible in society whereas men of the same age become “silver foxes.” She talks about how turning 50 marked a halfway point in life, whereas 60 made her think about losing her own parents, her health starting to suffer, other losses she doesn’t identify.
I totally get this. In the decade I’ve lived since I turned 60, I’ve lost both parents, broken my ankle requiring two surgeries, and had a few other health scares that luckily resolved themselves.
Picoult took charge of her fears of turning 60 by getting her first tattoo, something 3/4” tall in cobalt blue ink, on the inside of her left wrist. She had never, ever, not once, considered getting a tattoo, but an idea came to her of how she could mark this biological milestone using a symbol that meant something to her: a pilcrow.
A pilcrow is more commonly known as the paragraph symbol, a mark used in editing. This is what it looks like: ¶, and it simply means to make a new paragraph in that spot. Picoult explained her choice by saying “it means exactly what a pilcrow means when it’s inserted into a manuscript: Same story, fresh start.”
I like this. I won’t be rushing out to get a pilcrow tattooed on the inside of my wrist, but I will try to imagine my BIG birthday as the opportunity to insert a pilcrow into my life, my own version of same story, fresh start. I have some big dreams for this next year of my life, the very same ones I often start each new year with: eat healthier, exercise more, sleep better, cherish my time with my husband and daughters. I’ll still read everything I can get my hands on—including Jodi Picoult—and I hereby declare my next year on this earth to be the year I finish a first draft of my very own novel. My BIG birthday may turn out to be my very best year yet!
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