My dearest friends, below you'll find a short essay I wrote awhile ago, a link to my favorite essay (that I assure you, you will cherish), and an explanation of my decision to get a tattoo. If you've been badgering me to write or blog, lovingly attending to my stories on facebook or on the phone, or have an interest in essays and/or tattoos--this note is for you! It's deeply personal, sincere, rather long, and a love note to you all. I hope you enjoy it, should you have the time!
We'll begin with the short narrative essay of sorts, that I wrote in 2007, before I could have dreamt of having a tattoo:
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Tourists, especially on cruise ships, only get to see a small portion of Mexico. In 2004 I got to see Cancun, again. I went there first at seventeen, stifled by my parent's constant supervision and strained voices and, on the opposite hand, overwhelmed and allured by the way that men talked to me, as if we were already intimate. Both times that i went I was hazily in love with the constant heat, the crisp sun on the water, the mottled shadows that fell through the short, colorful trees. Chichen-itza was, as I'm sure you can imagine, a draw that captivated every pore of my being...thinking about the precise architecture and the necessity and pattern. There was an arena of sorts situated such that you could hear the speaker perfectly from every position. A temple in which the sunlight hits the doorway and shines through the other side on the solstice and only on the solstice every year. An entire culture, demanding attention, yet barely describable by some perfectly situated stone.
While I was in Mexico, I got a henna tattoo. I was shopping in a small tourist market--the ones in which potential patrons are relentlessly hounded. The girl who gave me the tattoo only half-engaged my attention, focusing instead on her friend nearby, clearly impatient to get my tattoo and money settled. I chose to get a sea-turtle on the upper part of my left arm by my shoulder--then my arms were very strong and muscular from yoga. The pattern was very strong and beautiful, imitating Mayan art work. I knew it was cheesy, and totally a tourist indulgence, but it was pretty enough for me not to care. It only cost the equivalent of $5, and i was fascinated by the process. I loved the way that the ink felt on my skin, kind of cold, oozy, and just a little bit thick. The turtle's shell, with its curves and patterns that seemed carved out of wood looked gorgeous, and the head and flippers were angled just right. I left the ink on for the prescribed amount of time and then wiped it clean, leaving the stain on my skin. It was a light, ruddy brown.
The next day the tattoo had started to fade already, but, where the stain had been my skin was raised and just a little bit more ruddy--red from the irritation. My beautiful sea-turtle looked even more appealing--the design, since it was originally inspired by wood carving, looked perfect. One could trace the swirls of the turtle's shell on my skin as if reading braille. It raised even more the next day. Two weeks later, the turtle was still there on my arm: this unintentional, beautiful brand. My skin was so sensitive that it took almost three weeks for my skin to return to "normal". Occasionally, while the skin was still swollen, the tattoo hurt or was a little bit itchy, but, for the most part, it was a cool design that just happened to stick around. My friends thought it was "rugged", "eclectic", "gorgeous", "perfect", and "crazy".
I still think about that turtle when i contemplate getting a tattoo. I realize how much I hesitate to decide on anything permanent--that nothing seems so compelling or true or beautiful that I need to pay homage to it with my skin for the rest of my life with some design that only speaks to a part of the whole. But had that sea turtle remained branded on my arm, as a scar, i'd be perfectly thrilled with it. This completely unintentional accident of beauty, a pleasurable scar. I almost wish that I would have been more sensitive, that my skin had never healed.
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And, now, one of my favorite essays ever written--also relatively short--"Joya Voladores", by Brian Doyle. It isn't the precise motivator for my tattoo, but it's certainly in the ball park--and the theme stays in line with the previous essay. If you haven't read this essay, yet, PLEASE treat yourself to it, here.
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And, finally, a few of my (many!) thoughts about this tattoo:
I've been considering this tattoo for over three years. Once I decided that I certainly wanted it, it took me three months to decide upon the symbol. It's merely a physical reminder of important things to me. The impetus for the tattoo isn't ABOUT tattoos, it's about remembering to manifest my intentions and actions without reservation and as if my life depended upon them. It's about the true cost of the pursuit of happiness, and the ephemeral nature of beauty and sustenance. It's about the startling success that's only possible with dogged perseverance and the accumulation of a thousand fleeting moments.
It's about practice. 10,000 hours each of yoga and pilates; of eating nature's bounty in its whole form (a rainbow of blueberries, spinach, kiwi, bell peppers, apples, and watermelon, among others); of exercising my imperfectly perfect, young, flexible, must last me 'til I'm 120 body; of writing essays even though TV is easier; of teaching; of celebrating the astonishing array and quality of people in my life with phone calls, visits, and hand-written notes; of playing piano, singing, dancing, and learning the ukelele; of being willing to vanish into the quaking amazement of thanks which every day can offer--especially when one works for it, even though being lazy or apathetic is easier for that one singular moment.
I've never been short on appreciation of happy accidents. At times, in adulthood, I've been short on the manic drive that compels so many of you through dissertations, marathons, vlogging fame, authorship, parenthood, doctoral hardships, Occupy protests, or the pursuit of new talents and jobs. I have pursued my love all the way to New Mexico, and now I must pursue my other forms of sustenance.
If you've made it this far into the note, you must know that you've inspired me a great deal. Thank you for your exuberant presence in my life--and for reading and sharing with me! Thank you for pursuing excellence, and for keeping me honest. I hope to return the favor. :-)
Love,
Maria
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