Carlos/Los/Raggamuffin Soul is always doing something provocative in his tattoo clad corner of the bloggosphere, last week it was a new take on collecting and creating community where you might not expect one. In response to his request on the Splat Your Tat post to “on your page, place the image of your tattoo and the story behind it” I give you this foggy explanation.

I got my tattoo shortly after my 18th birthday as an ignorant “it’s my body I can do what I want (and it’s finally legal!)” statement. It was a gift from a friend I’ve since lost track of - Erica Ash, and it was inspired by another friend I’m still in touch with - Gaea - who had the same ink put on her shoulder a year or two prior. At the time, I chose to replicate it because of the message one interpretation of the ankh provides: eternal life. I knew too much about loss for someone my age and it resonated with me in a way that nearly made me vibrate. The message, and the feelings the message brought still make me close my eyes for a brief unspoiled visit…a few moments alone with gratitude and sorrow and hope.

Perched in my seat at the Larry Allen studio in Anchorage, I was told to sit sideways in what reminded me of a dentists chair and I was told to push my arm against the back of the chair so my shoulder was flexed. I did as I was told. I remember it didn’t hurt until the end, mostly it felt like someone was writing something over and over again with a ball point pen, a sensation I wasn’t unfamiliar with having just been released from high school. In those days of course we didn’t have cell phones (only the rich people had them, and they were the kind of satellite phone that had their own purses) so we’d get bored and write on ourselves. So that’s what I knew, and that’s what it felt like to me. I don’t think we were there more than an hour.

I considered other locations for it, but my shoulder seemed the most fitting since - in my infinite 18 year old wisdom I didn’t think anyone would ever see my back. A year or so after getting it I was in California, living with my dad and in a move that was *very* not me, I joined him and in the hot tub one night. Maybe I was sore, maybe I was bored. Either way, he saw the tattoo and he wasn’t thrilled, but I was his daughter and he knew what the package was all about so he let it go.

I’ve never been more horrified and relieved in rapid succession in my life.

In the years since, there have been countless occasions I wish I hadn’t put it there. My first semi-formal office Christmas party where I wore a cute little black number with spaghetti straps, and countless work functions since then. I’m fortunate that I now work for an organization that could care less about body art of any shape or form, and it’s become an non-issue in that part of my world.

The challenge with it of late is that I believe in once piece of flair at a time, and while I still love the message; there are others I’d like to add to my body but can’t bring myself to. Why? Because I have a flair compulsion. I have one piece on my truck (a breast cancer license plate), one on my body (I wear mostly solid colored clothes and usually only one piece of jewelry - frequently recently colorful earrings) and otherwise am pretty flair free. Except, of course; for my ankh.

I often wish I’d waited, that I’d been more creative or at least more of an individual, but I didn’t and I wasn’t and that’s the story of my tattoo.