Afterfire

In February of 2016 there was a fire, though nothing of ours burned. Some of our neighbors’ things did; their things and their homes, a dog. I cried, though our cat was safe in the car and our python survived, too. We were smoked out, my husband and I, and had to throw lots of things away. Find a new place to live.

The fire was over a year ago but still, while looking for things, we ask each other, “Did we replace that after the fire?” And neither of us know, but we’re too exhausted to look.

Because it’s been a long year, and some ruined things that you thought were so essential--sometimes you lose them and when you lose so many all at once it’s hard to remember how many you gathered back up. And then you know you’re missing something but you’re not sure what but…something…so maybe you didn’t need it that badly after all?

There a lot of things that seem essential that you find you can live without, if you have to. You make do.

I have a lot but at one point I thought I had almost everything and as I move the laundry from the washer to the dryer I remember us that night under the neon lights at the Louisburg Sonic. I still remember what you wrote on my arm with a black ball-point pen (or was it blue?) while we laughed.

We thought we were legendary, didn’t we? Old souls; older then than we are now in some ways, I think. But the small towns weren’t enough to hold the two of us, and we were too much for each other as we expanded outwards, our centers pushed further and further apart until the distance was too much. Sonic is just a place to get mozzarella sticks now, while passing through.

I don’t pass through so often these days. It’s a long drive and I’m often too tired.

I’m too tired for lots of things, and I don’t think I turned out like anyone hoped I would, myself included. I like my tattoos, though, and the cowlick that makes my hair stand up a little in the back when it’s cut a certain way. I’m glad injustice makes me angry; at least I can say that about myself, even if I can’t do much about it. At least I can say I am upset by the urgency of need and my utter mediocrity. I only have the excuse that I’m cut off at the ankles. That’s a metaphor but honestly sometimes I think it’d be a decent trade. Swap the chronic diseases for some prosthetics. I don’t say it lightly; I’ve had over a decade to consider which disabilities I’d rather deal with. You know, hypothetically, should I strike a bargain at a crossroads somewhere.

There’s so much I have but I’m allowed to pray for this still, right? When I remember? These days I forget because now it feels like asking God to turn the sky green. As the years went by normalcy separated from me and I picked at it anxiously; it fluttered to the floor bit by bit until it was dead and gone and underneath I was raw. Every little poke and prod hurt me. There are calluses now but it’s been so long I don’t remember what it’s like to feel truly well.

It’s been a long year (and two months), but these last few days I’ve been feeling better. Every spring I feel like I’m coming up out of the ground again but maybe this time it’s for keeps; maybe I will stay above it and bloom for a season. Maybe the sunlight won’t be too harsh this time. I know I have to step gingerly. Do it right; do it right this time. Be careful, don’t live more than a certain amount of life each day or all my progress will be undone and who knows how long it will be before I get to feel my horse’s gait beneath me again, or laugh one shimmering night without paying in days.

It’s so precise and unpredictable, and I can’t do it by myself. Thankfully I don’t have to. But what do you do, when you’ve seen no model for this? Love in the time of illness, when illness is all the time? You say you knew what you were signing up for, but hell if I knew it would be quite like this; that quite so much would be in your hands for so long. For almost three years now I’ve told you some variation of “It won’t always be this way.” I hope I still believe that. I think I do. Surely if I do it right this time.

During the last meteor shower you lay beside me in the pickup bed, out in Louisburg. We passed the Sonic where I sat with my friend once but we didn’t get any mozzarella sticks; somehow you and I are different. Our expanses don’t push each other away. We can grow around each other; with one another. Change and know and doubt and celebrate and despair and somehow still fit. I guess that’s how there’s always room, but it’s cozy, too. The air outside the blankets we were under was chilly and I tucked my toes under our greyhound near the tailgate; he eyed me, uncertain of this arrangement but refusing to be left on the grass. I could tell you were asleep from your even breathing, and I would have woken you except the meteors weren’t coming so often anymore and I knew you had to work in the morning. The spray of stars was beautiful though, out there where there’s no light pollution. In the crisp air with the lid off the sky and my bones resting—no weight on them and my mind clear for once—there was a feeling of limitlessness. I almost cried because it was so beautiful, but also—I knew—so rare and fleeting.
All the same I hope for more this spring, as I make some changes; a weight lifted, a cleansing burn. The kind of fire that cleans up, not the kind you have to clean up after. Maybe this will be the year.

On Ink

Over the last few years, I’ve acquired several tattoos. Being from a fairly conservative background, this has been met with resistance from many people in my life. I thought I would compose a post including the most common reactions I’ve gotten, and why I think people need to stop reacting that way to their friends and family considering ink.
I will preface this with the disclaimer that obviously when one gets a tattoo, there are things they need to consider, such as how it will affect their employment opportunities depending on the field they work in, etc. I’m not saying that getting a tattoo is a decision to be taken lightly; it isn’t.
But you know what? If you’re talking to an adult who is considering a tattoo, I betcha they already know this.

So without further ado, My Response to Anti-Ink Reactions:

"The Bible says not to get tattoos."

No it doesn't. You can pretend it does if you take one verse in Leviticus completely out of context, but if you are critically examining scripture it's easy to see that this argument holds no water.

"We are to be in the world, not of the world."

Ok, then why are you wearing a t-shirt and not robes? Are those pre-faded jeans? Nike shoes? Or even a tie in the workplace? You're conforming to "the world" too, if that's how you apply that phrase. Sorry, your logic doesn't hold up.


“Have you really thought this through? It’s going to be there forever, you know.”

This one’s just insulting to my intelligence.


“You’re going to regret it later.”

First of all, how do you know that? What makes you think that you know better than me what I will regret down the line? We make all manner of decisions in life that affect us permanently. Whether we go to college, our major in college, whether we marry, who we marry, if we have children, when we have children, whether or not to take a job opportunity or move out of state. All of those decisions are, obviously, much bigger than the decision to get some ink, and those are decisions only an individual can make for themselves. So surely, if someone is a legal adult and you trust them to make these types of decisions, you can trust that they know themselves well enough to get a tattoo.
Secondly: ok, so what if I do regret it later? That’s my problem and I will deal with it if it happens. That logic can be applied to literally any large or small risk someone takes. In itself, that is not a reason not to do something. I have decided it is worth the risk to me, and that is my decision to make, not yours.


“What will you tell your kids?”

I will tell them what the tattoos mean to me, and that when they are grown ups, they can get tattoos too if they want. I will draw on them with Magic Marker if they want me to. I will tell them that it’s a commitment and a big decision that only they can make, and they have to think a lot about it. I will tell them that all kinds of people have tattoos, and we don’t judge people’s character based on how their bodies look. Even if that’s the message some Christians seem to be pushing.


“It’ll look bad when you get old and wrinkly.”

Not only is this one rooted in our society’s ageism (that is particularly misogynistic when it comes to looks), it’s simply not true. If one takes care of their tattoos (sunblock, lotion when needed, occasional touchups over the years), they can look great even on aged skin. Trust me, as the person subjecting my skin to permanent marks via millions of needle pokes, I’ve done more research on this than you.


“You’re inviting people to judge you.”

Well, really, no I’m not. I’m not inviting that; they are thrusting it upon me. Their judgment is on their own initiative. In almost every other area of life, isn’t the advice “stop caring so much what people might think”? Why is that suddenly reversed when it comes to the most shallow reason to judge someone (their appearance)? Now, I do understand that I am voluntarily entering into a demographic that is judged more harshly. That is true. But people who are going to judge me because of my tattoos are not people I want in my life regularly anyway. If I need to avoid potential judgment for a job interview or similar event, I will cover my tattoos to protect my interests. But other than that, I really don’t care what people think who are small-minded enough to believe that me having tattoos makes me deficient or inferior in any way.
And if the real reason you are saying this to someone is because you are worried about your association with them and how them having tattoos might reflect on you or embarrass you…I would encourage you to re-examine what you really think it means to love someone (platonically, romantically, or otherwise).


“What a waste of money.”

What is a “waste” of money is relative. It’s a priority to me, thus it is not a waste of my money. You know what would be a waste of my money? An X-Box, an $80 flat-iron, snow skis, regular manicures, hunting equipment, stilettos. Of course those aren’t inherently bad purchases, but I have no use for or interest in any of them. But I love tattoos. Tattoos might be a waste of your money, but they’re not a waste of mine.

“Why?”

Here we come to the less logical; the more intangible.

Though first it’s worth saying that I don’t have to explain myself to anyone in order for my choices here to be valid.

But I’ll try to explain some without getting too personal, because everyone who doesn’t like tattoos seems to feel that they are entitled to my reasoning.

One reason is self-expression. Everyone does this in some way or other. It’s important for everyone, but some people have to fight harder for it because their methods are less straight-laced. People have asked me, “But why do you have to express yourself THAT way?” Well, because it’s something I connect with and find beautiful. It speaks to me, and I’m expressing MYself, so I get to choose how I do it. That’s kind of how self-expression works.

The more personal layer to this has to do with living with chronic illness. Often I am too fatigued to express myself much at all. There is an adventurous vibrancy in me that I have lost the ability to live out by action; at least I have the consolation of being able to express some of that, no energy required, every day on my skin. My tattoos help remind me of who I am when I’m too tired to remember; they give others a small glimpse when I’m nothing but a lump in a chair. I don’t have to think, I don’t have to put anything special on, I don’t have to speak. Self-expression is a luxury I would not often have if it weren’t for my tattoos.

Another reason is, I love documenting. My life, my feelings, events, time. I’ve kept journals since the age of eleven; I’ve filled up over 57 of them to date. I have a plethora of photo albums and scrapbooks; when my phone or computer run out of storage, it’s because they are full of pictures. I love keeping a permanent, ever-present record of this story I am living; my body as a canvas and a journal. A visual representation of how my story has shaped me.

Another reason: bodily autonomy. I grew up in an Evangelical church culture that didn’t give me much say in the choices I made about my body. My body belonged to God, or to my future husband, but never to me. If I did dare to wear something that was frowned upon (like pants instead of a skirt), or pierce my ears, or dye my hair or cut it short, I was shamed and shunned.
Then came college, and boundary-pushing boys who I didn’t really know how to stand up to because I was never taught about consent or how to make decisions about what happens to my body; I was only ever told that I couldn’t make decisions about my body, because I had no authority over it.
There is a chronic illness aspect to this one too. Becoming ill in the first place was a traumatic experience in itself, and now I don’t have much control over my health, how I will feel from one day to the next or one year to the next. Some medications have made me gain significant amounts of weight. I don’t have much control over my body, how it feels and how it looks and what I do with it, in comparison to what it was like to be able-bodied, and that’s an unpleasant feeling that doesn’t go away.
For all of these reasons, it has been very healing to be able to take control of my body back. To do what I want with it, without feeling guilty or being subject to someone else. To make it have something I want it to have. On my terms. To make it look how I want it to look. Permanently.
The freedom to do that is empowering and life-giving to me. Not only at the time of getting the tattoo, but every single time I look at every single one of my tattoos.

I could go on and on. Everyone has their reasons for wanting a tattoo, or five or eight or ten. Sometimes it’s deeply personal, and sometimes it's as simple as, "I just love that!". Both are valid.

Ultimately, I love art. I love having it on my body. I love uniqueness and the diversity of people and their stories and their tastes. If there's one thing that modern psychology is continuously finding, it's that rigidity is unhealthy.
Ink on.