My Mid-Life Crisis

26 July 2010

To squelch any rumors whispering through Facebook, text message, and dinner parties: this isn’t my mid-life crisis. Nor am I moving to South America, turning lesbian, or announcing a divorce. My recent physical transformations came with little warning and all at once; but aren’t all the biggest risks taken spontaneously? Within two days of feeling dangerous, I sat down for my first boycut and laid on the table for my first tattoo. I put myself in the hands to two amazing San Francisco artists to do what they do best. Resigning myself to their talents, I closed my eyes.

Thanks to the genius of my dear friend and creative enigma, Kelle Schlax, my chesnut boy-short locks are chopped to perfection. The joys of short hair warrant a post of their own, so let's talk about the more permanent transformation: my first time under the needle at the hand of Mr. Gordon Combs, tattooist extraordinaire.

Like losing your virginity, no description or study can prepare you for the feeling of your first tattoo. Friends had expressed the pain in ratings of bee stings and period cramps, but the actual sensation of the first line was unlike anything in my previous experience. Initially, the pain was less than I expected. The basic outline was tickling, burning, and slightly pleasurable. As the three hour session progressed, the discomfort increased exponentially. During certain intense moments of digging over raw skin, it crossed my mind that I might not make it for another 10 minutes. Then Gordon's hands would move to another part of my arm or he would spray the fresh wound with cooling alcohol (a godsend!) and I would feel ready to go on.

Sitting up to drink iced tea each time Gordon changed his gloves helped to break up the intense concentration of shooting nerves. On the other hand, after a good 5 or 10 minutes of constant scraping, your mind blurs out the pain and glorious numbness comes over your body. Meditating on the needle and breathing with its rhythmic movements also helped to distract from the most tormenting stabs, turning excruciating pain into near euphoria. It was a newfound test of the mind’s power, and one that leaves you feeling incredible control over your own self.

As the curvy, elegant quill emerged on my arm, the pain became obsolete. The ceremonial process of laying down for sacrifice, cleaning the gun, dipping ink, stretching skin, holding, stabbing, vibrating, wiping- the changing of gloves- the entire ritual felt like a rite of passage. I hadn’t anticipated the intimacy of this experience. We sat face to face for three solid hours as Gordon etched his marking into my skin. Every once in awhile my best friend, Jamie, would touch my hair with her cool hands- so soothing to my throbbing head!

All my fears fell away when I admired the beautiful form on my arm. The elegant line, form, and color are a small present looking back up at me. It already feels so natural to be part of my body, like the homecoming of a dearly missed friend. I feel energized by her return.

Thanks to Jamie Foster for photographing the session while feeding me peanuts and ice tea.