The Rolling Log
The ninja warrior show is AWESOME. I love it, and I'm not ashamed. I love all of the yelling in some indeterminable Asian language. I love seeing people's greased bodies perform amazing feats. I love seeing people splash into the dirty water and come up looking embarrassed. (Maybe I enjoy that last thing more than I should.)
There's a part of that show, that strikes me as incredibly similar to my experience with life. The rolling water log. So here's the deal, no one knows how to handle that stinking log until they're on it. You probably have a coach (or two) telling you about the proper log-rolling techniques, and all the while you're thinking about how you're going to do it--imagining what it will be like to stay atop that rolling log, what it will feel like to be successful. And then you get on. And it's nothing like you thought it would be. You're scared--of falling off, of getting hurt, of embarrassing yourself. For a second, a glorious span of time, you're getting it, you're making that log your you-know-what. Then there's that second that changes everything. You lose your footing and you know you're about to fall. And then it happens, you're flying through the air with no idea how it will all turn out. And you hit, hard. You don't want to get back up, have no idea how to handle the failure, the pain, the uncertainty of it all, and the loss of your pride. When you stand up, nothing will be the same again.
So, wow, that's pretty deep for a stupid round thing that spins around in water, but it's true for me at least. And while I'll probably never try that spinning trap of wooden death, I've felt that way in life at least a million times.
It's hard to know that everything I try at, I'll probably fail, that somewhere in some unknown point in the future, I'll be flying through the air again waiting to see where I'll land and how things will look when I get up, but maybe that takes some of the pressure off... Maybe we're living for that second of pure bliss when we feel like we've got it all together.
Ink
When I was sixteen I begged my mom to let me get a tattoo. I said I'd like to do it with her permission, but if she said no, I "knew a guy who knew a guy" who could give me one. She said no. I asked again. She told me to ask my father. He brushed it off like it wasn't even worth his time to explain why not. I asked mom again. She said no, and that I should talk to other people about it. (Probably because she was tired of hearing me ask.) So I talked to my aunt, and she said that if I waited until I was 18 and I still wanted it she would pay for me to get a tattoo. (That'll be about 60 dollars, btw.)
So I waited until I was 18. I had this great idea that I would get a tattoo on the inside of my hand--a heart on my ring finger. I asked Ty to get a matching one with me. He said no. I asked him again. He said no. So I said, "That's fine, I'll go get one and convince you later." And so I went to this tattoo shop in Manhattan and they said "no."
What?!
Apparently they didn't want to give a tattoo with that placement. Utterly stumped, I put the idea of a tattoo in my back pocket, kept adding to my Pinterest board of tattoo ideas, and went about my merry little non-log-rolling-but-still-log-rolling life.
On Christmas, life threw me off the log. Hard. And I don't know if/when I'll ever get up. And, frankly, it's not about me, so I guess that's kind of besides the point. But I've been thinking a lot about life, and how impermanent our earthly lives are. My uncle reminded me the other day of the whole toilet paper roll life metaphor, and it's scarily true for me at 22. I'm terrified of how true it will be in another five years (if I'm blessed enough to be around that long).
I thought of all the things that mattered to me in life. God, my husband, my siblings, my family. Writing is the best way I can express that. So I got this idea to brand myself as a God-loving, life-living, adventure-seeking, agriculture-advocating, writer. And while I hope to do that through my actions, I've also done it visually, with a tattoo.
Of course, I'm a writer, and a pictures worth a thousand words. The heart with a cross shows not only my love for Christ and His love for me, but how God so lovingly crafts us and starts our life. He knits us in our mothers' womb. He breathes breath into our very souls. So there's the ECG. The representation of our heartbeat, the sign that we're alive. Then the feather quill. The most beautiful writer's utensil. Created from a living animal. A symbol of how God put animals here for humans' use. And the symbol of a writer. We are able to write our own stories in life, with the gift of God's love.
It's crazy to think that a few black lines etched into my skin with a needle could mean so much. And maybe to everyone else it is just a picture containing just about every cliched tattoo there is, but it's my brand, my life, my motto.
Afterthoughts
I walked into the shop a nervous, anxious, adrenaline-filled, clean-skinned, tattoo noob.
I came out with a beautiful piece of art that I'll cherish. One of the most permanent things I can do on this earth, and even then, it's fleeting. Thanks to Joe at Religious Ink in Stillwater, OK for helping my post-it note drawing come to life.
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