On the issue of tattoos, I am a purist. I think the body in its purest form is sexy. The body’s biggest organ is beautiful just as it is. I say that knowing the Carpenter has a tattoo and most of my dearest friends do too. Thus, it is not a judgment, just a personal opinion.
I admire those who endure the pain of a tattoo to mark their personal experiences on their journey through life.
For a while, I entertained the idea of getting a tattoo myself. It was years ago, after illness threatened to extinguish my light. I thought a tattoo would be a unique celebration, imprinting a personal emblem on my delicate skin, a sort of survivor branding.
My sudden illness left me with many physical and even emotional scars. It also left me with a fresh impression of pain. Perhaps I was a chicken, but I decided that those scars were my tattoos, even if they were works of art by a different means.
Every scar is a memory. Every mark tells a story. From the burn I got at age 4 to the lines created by my two beautiful children, to the thick marks and bumped flesh that, through a power far creative than my own, healed the unthinkable, each scar is a story in the evolution of me.
With the summer season upon us, I am reminded that my bikini days are far behind me. Who am I kidding? They were never with me. Yet nothing humbles my ego like bathing suit season. Sigh.
Thus, it was only fair that I called Victoria’s Secret and turned down its generous offer to let me be the 40-something Mommy Angel in their next runway show. It’s a shame for them, really.
I had practiced my walk and everything. I planned to bounce up that runway with the tour de force of a mother who just realized Junior forgot his lunch at home (again) and was going to have to leave work to deliver it to his school. Yep, I had the angry model look.
I even had my outfit picked out. I was going to be the first angel with wings built out of post-it notes, listing my daily to-dos, which would be strapped to the back of my hoodie and yoga pant ensemble.
What? Did you really think I would wear something else?
I had to cancel because I have a new tattoo to add to the road map of my life; the result of a recent surgery. It was a minor thing, nothing serious, but nonetheless, it comes with a new scar. A new reality meets me in the mirror yet again and I have to tell you, it takes some getting used to.
But I believe life is about choices, including one’s outlook. You can see scars as ugly, unsightly blemishes of the skin or one can view them as blessings, trademarks of yet another battle won and another fear conquered.
One’s body is a life’s work of art. It’s a beautiful, imperfect thing.
What better reminder that life is simply too short to worry about having a clean canvass? This body of mine is going to cross the finish line of life in a splendour of messy glory.
In the meantime, Victoria’s Secret will have to go on without me. This angel has too much living to do.