Most ridiculous stories start with one of a few lines. “Remember our last night in Morocco…?” “So it seemed like a good idea at the time, but…” and “When I was eighteen…”
When I was eighteen.
I got this tattoo on my back on my eighteenth birthday. Fourteen years ago. My mom cried. No wait… she didn’t cry. She called me a masochist. I wonder if she remembers that. It made me wonder what she knew about masochism.
I got this tattoo on a whim. Mostly because I could and I did. No wait… it was more than that. I felt like the only way I could express my individuality was with a Japanese character I picked out of a plastic-coated tattoo artist book. I undoubtedly employed phrases like “this just feels right” to convince myself and calm the nerves of the best friend I coerced into ditching 7th period with me.
This tattoo is the first in a long string of impulsive things I could do and did do as an adult in the world… including but not limited to: dropping out of college before even starting, moving to Vermont with a single suitcase and $973, that one thing I did on that bridge, and all the ridiculous things my Dad should not know about, ever… thanks.
This tattoo isn’t really a Japanese character to me anymore. It’s a sign of this impulse that lives inside me. The impulse that packs up and moves to Miami. The impulse that runs recklessly through a thunderstorm (though one should never involve oneself with the words reckless and thunderstorm). It’s the impulse that totally knocked that drink out of your hand while we were dancing.
It’s the outward expression of I’m sorry/I’m totally not sorry.
On a scale of 1 to tacky…. it’s totally tacky. Let’s just be real. I’m sorry sometimes… but I take it back, because it’s just me.
You know what’s amazing?
When you add it all up. The moving here and there and there, the friends come and gone, the text books, the early morning baker’s hours, the scrapes, the scars, the dinners and drinks, and flights and fights.. the big loves, that thing on the bridge… when you add all up, it’s so weird that the sum of these parts is a bad tattoo, a cat, baguette, and this space on the internet.
I never could have known.
photos by lani trock
ps. The lip ring I had? … That’s a whole other Oprah.
Susan
This blogpost is absolutely stunning. I have been debating about getting a tattoo ever since I turned 18, when I knew I had the power to get one. I could have done it right on my 18th birthday, but there was something that held me back at that time – I was scared I was going to regret it in the future. Now, 11 months later, I finally accepted that I won’t regret getting any tattoo (I hope) on myself, because tattoos should be a form of art to express a kind of timeline about yourself. There will be a story behind it – can help remind you what you were feeling at the moment in the future or even in your case, no particular meaning at all.
Just giving my thoughts about a tattoo. I really can’t wait till I get mine soon.
Susan Loves…
Shellina
Love love love. And I forgive you for not having a recipe to share on this one- great post. Bravo!
Kimber
Your tattoo is beautiful and so is your story and so are you.
Briana
Gave me goosebumps :)
Jennifer
I too have an orange cat, so I couldn’t help but fall in love with the picture you posted. Funny AND adorable!
Monique @ Ambitious Kitchen
I love this, Joy. Our experiences make us who we are. This little insight into your life was fun to read. :)
AKG
This was wonderful! Not long ago I made impulsive decisions that forged a life that is stronger, more interesting, and helped me grow a hell of a lot more than the path others encouraged me to take. This post makes me long for the days I would strike out on my own and do what I felt was right. Thanks Joy!
Marleena @ The Flex Foodie
what would make life real without being impulsive. It’s the way I’ve lived my most of my life, and I will never take back those moments. Good to hear from you side, as honestly can be a gem in the food blogging world!
Emilie
I COMPLETELY understand the choosing a Japanese character at a young age when you think it’s a totally good idea:) But, I also don’t regret mine too much because my friends took me on my 20th birthday for a surprise 2nd tattoo. They blindfolded me, and pooled together their money to pay for it, and they were/are some of the best people I’ve ever known. It stands for Love (really!), and I got it about a month before I went to Ireland for a year. So even though I may have twinges about design choice, it reminds me every day of that time in my life:)
emily
I, too, am a card-carrying member of the Sisterhood of Regrettable Japanese Tattoos. Except that I get bonus points for its location (just above the butt crack. I fancied it saucy at the time, but I was 18 and on spring break and hadn’t yet heard of the phrase “tramp stamp.”).
I once read something that compared the human life to an onion: as we grow, we just keep adding layer and layer and layer; all the older layers are always a part of us, even if they’re way deep or feel forgotten. I used to wince whenever I saw that tattoo in the mirror, but now it makes me think of that “layer” of my life, an important part of me, as are all the parts that have brought me to today.
I love your writing, Joy, and am glad that tattoo and the moves and the scars and that thing on the bridge brought you to this place on the internet! Because otherwise I wouldn’t have the recipe to what’s now my boyfriend’s all-time favorite cookie (Chocolate Peppermint Sandwich Cookies; they even beat out his mom’s Date-Spice Cookies, shh, don’t tell) and these lovely writings that I so look forward to.
joythebaker
i really appreciate this comment so so much1 thank you emily!