Tattoos Are For Closers

2020-02-23 Leave a reply

I wanted a tattoo when I was about 19 or so. I imagined it, drew it out on paper, gave way too much mental space to it. My thought was to make a wry comment on the state of existence in my little newbie-at-adulting world. It looked a little like this, kind of, but not exactly. The idea was that the world is unpredictable, chaotic, entropic. That’s how I felt at 19.

As far as entropy… I was on to something, but back then my mindset was less optimistic than it finally grew into. (Too much Nine Inch Nails, perhaps?) The tattoo was to go on the inside of my wrist near all those little bones and on thin skin, a theoretically painful location that seemed to make the whole endeavor a tiny bit “tougher”. Because that’s how I am. If I’m going to do something painful yet common and obviously survivable, why not do it in a way that is even more painful? You know, to show my level of commitment or something. Does that mean I’d make a great Marine?

Over and over again, I decided that getting a tattoo was a really serious deal. Something that I would/could/should/oughtta personally only leap into if I really knew what I wanted. If I knew that I was committing for the long haul. If I was confident in my choice of design and of location and of tattoo artist. And that, my dears, is where things go off the rails. Because, as you can extrapolate:

I never got a tattoo.

Even now, there’s more evidence of stalling in this very piece of writing right here… I started writing a post about my recalcitrance about that tattoo at age 43. I’m now 45 and STILL I am a person who does not make decisions easily. Especially not “hard to take back” decisions. Life-changing, for sure. I can move across the country with ease. I can quit a job that I hate. I can break up with people who are not the people I need to be with (after some delay, but that’s another post).

But get a tattoo??? That shit doesn’t wash off. Even changing cities or jobs or relationships seems less “permanent” than getting a tattoo. So, no, I do not have one.

And that’s not how you make life changes, as I should well know by now. Waiting for the right time, the right image, the right artist, even the right story. But all of that… it’s just stalling and foot dragging and denial.

“Whatever you’re meant to do, do it now. The conditions are always impossible.” – Doris Lessing

Ask nearly everyone you know with tattoos (even one), and it’s a common story that they do not attach deep personal meaning to their first ink. It was something they just did. It looked neat. They had a spur of the moment urge. Maybe they were drunk. It happens. No. Big. Deal. After the first, maybe they then wanted more. Maybe they wanted some with grandiose meaning. Or not. Maybe they got a few more also for fun, or maybe they stopped. I know quite a few people with just one, from a long time ago and a personality they barely even know anymore. They don’t regret it but they also don’t have a strong urge to continue this “body as canvas” direction.

Is 2020 the year?

Signs point to YES. I’m both more emotionally free from fear of commitment and more enraptured with images that inspire ink. Circles, moon phases, heart expansion, and trees are all on my mind.

……..

Title of this post gleefully stolen/adapted from a play/film you should watch to see dialogue in masterful action: Glengarry Glen Ross, the “coffee is for closers!” scene.

Just. Like. That.

2016-04-06 1 Reply

I was flying over the petroglyphs, the winding river, pointed at the mountains through the clear clear air. I hadn’t seen it all in about 10 months and that was shocking to contemplate. Bewildering, almost.

In those 10 months I’d spent inordinate amounts of time training, running, and working, and working, and working more. And it had evaporated like time does. Just like that.

But seeing Albuquerque again after so abruptly departing 16 months ago was unexpectedly emotional, too. It heightened the sense of how quickly things can turn on a dime if you let them or want them or make them. After 17 years in one place, I changed tracks on the high-speed railway. Just like that.

These days I am externally a rather different person in my choice of employment, day to day associates, and home than I was 2 years ago. Little changes inside, of course. That’s why you can hop tracks but you’re still your own make and model of train.

How To Let A Midlife Crisis Year Go By In Moments

2016-02-09 Leave a reply

When I was a bit younger I started to notice the sensation of time speeding up. This just wouldn’t do, no. I commented on it to a friend and they agreed, so we accosted the very next person we encountered on our run to ask them. The 50-ish woman obliged our off-the-cuff inquiry, “so, does time just keep getting faster?!” by answering immediately, “yes!”. We were disappointed but not at all surprised.

Cue a decade later and some major shifts in my situational and emotional trajectory. Or, as some regular folks like to call it, a “midlife crisis”.

In 2014, a small series of personal events set off a chain of reactions that far exceeded the initial tipping mechanisms. But like a convoluted domino setup, the chain reaction had been waiting, building. All of these things happened and all contributed: my cat companion died, I quit my job, I recovered from eating disorder after-effects, I started meditating, I turned 40. Still I knew there was more to change, one big thing. Whether or not it was the final thing I needed to regroup I did not know at the time. I only knew it was coming and it was finally time to do it. I ended a 15 year relationship and moved away from my home of 18 years.

For a few months after that galactic shift, I was still in shock, floundering around mentally. I embraced the new location, leaned into a new relationship, ran a LOT, and pondered. And then I started getting busy. I took on work that turned into more work and more work, finding myself with 60+ hour weeks by mid-summer that hasn’t let up since. Running flamed out after injury and has yet to come back.

But all of those things I want to do with my old life—reaching out, communicating, thanking, reconciling—those things were lost in the slipstream of work, work, work and trying to run again. It has been 14 months, just like that.

Time is doing that thing again; I don’t need anyone on the trail to tell me what’s what.

I don’t have answers as to how I can start that process again, connecting with lost stubs of friendships and withering roots to a locational past home. I hope to figure it out for I miss those old connections.

IFS with Andrea