Amor Fati – One of My Tattoos

I have many tattoos on my body. I think that there is a beauty in body markings. Last night, I desperately discussed the pros and cons of a friend’s idea to put a large tattoo on their hand. Much like a henna tattoo design.  I consigned to the idea, but suggested a long wait before making the final decision.  There should be no room for regrets, and he was glad to have someone (with tattoos) challenge his idea so that he could better defend it. My caveat was even if you’re trying to find a non-coporate job, some people may find the tattoo off-putting, which in turn, could dampen career options.  My friend said that the tattoo would be a testament to his ability to perform, despite appearance (tattoo, dreads, etc).  And also, it would separate the career paths that would truly value his merit versus those who won’t hire because of a tattoo.  Idealistic, in my opinion. I said that when he is 45 and in transition, he would rather have food than a tattoo. After talking with his mother, friends and siblings, he’s getting closer to a decision.  But, I said one word that made him falter.  I told him that no matter how beautiful the tattoo is, it is still a form of scarification. He words were: “Whoa, when you say it like that, it changes things.”

It got me thinking about all the different ways in which we mark the passage of time.  Scars on the body, whether in pure form or marked with ink, are definitive markers for life experience, time, pain, death.  Tattoos are the most colorful, most public form.  Talk to any army veteran or cancer survivor and the story that emerges from the cataloging of scars on their body would be far more personal and private.

Yet, somehow, when the word “scar” in this case “scarification” was presented the situation changed.  People try very hard to cover up scars;  in many ways they can be an exposure of a weakness or private pain that is not meant to be shared. But everyone has to have at least one scar.  An elbow from falling off a bike, a chin from falling as a kid, deep ones of the wrist to signify something far more ominous.  Scars on the breast from incision points for a lumpectomy.

There are so many scars that are out of our control, that are a testament to the intangible, uncontrollable forces of life and death.  Are tattoos, or pre-meditated scars a way to take the power back? To finally stand up and say that I choose my own fate, that, really, only I have the power to eternally mark my body for what it loves and what it is to remember? I think so. There is a difference between the scars that are proud and the scars that we hide from.