On Blogging and My Tattoo

Today I will be getting my first (and only) tattoo. The tattoo, like this blog, and so many other things in my life has been a long time in development--at least ten years. The failure to achieve it sooner, is the story behind all of my other stories, because beginning is what I fail most successfully.

Over 20 years ago, I struggled to begin college. I wanted to go, I think, but I was too afraid to actually show up. I signed up for classes, and never attended. Twice I dropped out on medical leave before finally giving up. I had all kinds of excuses: My job interfered, My school was too big, I had trouble getting from class to class, I couldn't find parking, I was sick. The list goes on, but it just boils down to: I couldn't bring myself to begin.

In my 20's I decided I wanted a tattoo when I turned 30. At first it was just because I wanted something symbolic of my continued youthfulness. Later, I was inspired by the near loss of my husband, to design something meaningful that I was willing to mar my body with for life. I turned 40 last month. No tattoo. Lots of excuses.

Over the years I've allowed a hundred excuses to take the blame for my inability to start things I wanted to do. And for all those years, I have called myself a "writer." Although maybe "thinker" is more accurate. I write in my head. Long, involved and detailed stories, which I never commit to paper. It's all up there, but the inability to start prohibits me from sharing them. Perhaps that's not right though. It doesn't prohibit, it enables me. If I never start, there will never be a point where I discover I can't really do it. I can blissfully tell myself I "could" be a writer, rather than admitting, I might not be one at all.

I could probably continue on, deluded like this, for the rest of my life. It wouldn't be too hard. But I've always known I was lying to myself. I always knew something was missing, and none of my excuses could change that. But ultimately, it was a chain of events beyond my control which propelled me out of my delusion. I started 2008 with a slight case of Cancer, some major surgery, and a mystery illness which caused the degeneration of my muscle, tissue and bone. The year culminated in my daughter's diagnosis for a painful autoimmune disease, the loss of my job the day before Thanksgiving, and the loss of my entire family's medical care. All in all that year sucked pretty hard! But not enough to change my ways. 2009 came in with a bang, complete with firemen in my living room, and my husband in the ambulance and hospital. But finally a diagnoses and treatment for my disorder came around this time last year.

Once I finally started feeling better, I had to assess my life. I had spent a year primarily incapacitated. A whole year disappeared. As I thought about it, I realized how many other years had just slipped away. I don't know when it happened; when I checked out and stopped showing up for my life, but I didn't want to waste anymore of my time, waiting to begin.

Inspired by a friend who defied all my best excuses and returned to school, despite her two young children, to train in a difficult field she felt passionate about, I decided to enroll in a college class. Just one. Online. But I enrolled, and I showed up (as much as one can online) and I got an "A", with a lot of support from my friends. This semester I signed up for two classes, on two campuses. Moreover, both classes have involved me sharing my work with others. I started. I showed up, in person. I wrote it on paper. I committed it to reality. I let it be seen by someone else. I have found so much of myself in the vulnerability of these acts.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned my tattoo to a friend; the one with whom I shared my horrible High School writings a lifetime ago. She offered to pay for my tattoo, which outside of "I'm afraid it will hurt," was my last legitimate excuse for not getting one. I started to think about the tattoo I designed and what it meant, and I realized its meaning was deeper than I knew. It's a simple tattoo. A little bottle. A staff of music. Four rose buds. It's a symbolic tattoo. The music, which represents my husband, is from my wedding, "Time in a bottle." The bottle is my life, the time I have. The roses are my children; blooming and growing in my life. But what I had not realized was the tattoo itself was symbolic. It represents all the things I have put off, all the time I wasted.

I decided to commit it to reality. Today. It serves as a reminder that I only have a limited amount of time, but an unlimited amount of opportunity, to begin. And in honor of that, I have stepped up and begun the blog I have been saying I will start, but just haven't managed to get around to, as a symbol of my commitment to write, and do, and be something, every day. Although I promise less serious entries most of the time!

The universe is a funny place. When it wants you to go somewhere, it makes sure you get there, one way or another. And that is just what has happened to me. I didn't go willingly, but I'm glad I got here. I hope you will continue to join me on my journey, and share it with anyone you know who may be having trouble with a beginning of their own.