I had an appointment with Friday last Thursday. I’ll explain that in a minute. The appointment was the culmination of a well-earned leap of life and faith. What brought this on? Well, it’s no secret that the past few years have been a tad challenging for me. Rather, it’s quite public knowledge, considering I’ve been yammering about it via cyberspace for nearly a year now. Add in that in a little over seven weeks, I’ll turn the corner on 50, and no one could blame a gal for a little self-reflection, a little introspection, and a lot of chocolate. I’d been contemplating making my appointment for a few years now. Observing others who had made theirs became part of my process, wondering what it was like, how it felt, how they came to their decisions, and why. The why was most important for me. Doing this had to mean something. If not, it would be pointless. My actions would be permanent. If you haven’t figured it out yet, my appointment was to get a tattoo. Sure, that’s not such a big deal these days. You can’t walk down a street without witnessing several passing by on arms, legs, and backs, everywhere. I admit, I too have gawked at people who look like illustrated graphic novels as I quietly sang “Lydia that Tattooed Lady” in my head. But slowly over the past several years I started to think, “hmm…maybe…” Then I’d snap out of it, and tell myself, “Oh come ON – it’s SO clique and midlife-crisis to get a tattoo. And there’s no going back once it’s done – you really want that?” Then my thinking, my life changed.
In a little bit, I’ll turn the corner on 50, and no one could blame a gal for a little self-reflection.