The Tattoo

Even as the first sting registered in my brain, I felt free. With each continued pierce, it felt more like an uncovering of something locked deep within my soul than an adding of foreign material under a thin layer of epidermis.

At this point, I was yet to come out, but this was a definitive line in the sands of life. I didn't yet trust myself; how could I? I was still slowly getting to know me! In many ways, I was a stranger to my own mind, but yet I was one of those strangers you meet and want to know instantly. I admired this stranger. She had a courage I did not possess, a courage for which I'd been longing.

Each aspect of this tattoo had been specifically chosen. A fleur de lis for two reasons, one to mark the city where the awakening had begun, Louisville, Kentucky of all places, and the second marked my fascination with France. The second reason, I think, served as a cover up for the first until I was ready to reveal myself to the world. It took over a year after the tattoo experience to find that nerve. Ironically, it was on the day I left to study in France. More ironic still, and surprising even to me, was the fact that I fell madly in love with my wife in France that very summer.

The second aspect was the color. Blue and yellow. The colors of the Human Rights Campaign, actually, although many people mistook it for the New Orleans Saints logo; even my father thought it was a cool Boy Scouts emblem! (I still wonder about that one.) After I came out to myself I found it difficult to answer a persistent question: now what?! Simply put, I began to read and research what I was! What do I do now that I know I'm gay? Is it actually worth coming out? Do I want to risk my happy life on such uncertainty? I was unsure of the stance I wanted to take in all of this, and it took quite a long time to figure these things out. During this time, it was of great comfort to me in realizing there was an organization, many actually, working endlessly to make this world a better place for people like me. This made me happy and put my mind more at ease. 

The tattoo artist worked his magic on my left arm, sort of a traditional place for classic tattoos, I guess. Even the placement of this tattoo had reasons, two reasons actually. First, I am very left-handed. I was born that way. I was discovering that it was much the same way with being gay. I had a second grade teacher that had tried to make me right-handed, similar to the years I had spent trying to make myself straight.  I was born left-handed…and gay, and this was okay, or at least I was working towards okay. Second, my dad is one of my heroes. He has the remnants of an old tattoo he got back in the army on his arm, and it has always fascinated me.

 As my thoughts caught back up with the painful, yet extremely satisfying artwork that was taking shape, I felt a new level of excitement. Even though I still held such doubts concerning who I was and where I was going from here, I was turning a new page in my life. This was a symbolic gesture of letting go of the past and embracing a newness of life—a newness that still frightened me at this point, but one I knew I would regret not embracing. As I sat in the studio, a courage was slowly arising within. To this day, that courage has served me well; it has taken me to heights of peace and happiness, beyond my previous comprehension. I think often of this symbolic moment in my life, and I am grateful for the strength I found inside to embrace myself fully and the passion I now hold to encourage others to do the same.

There is peace and happiness to be found in your journey; we choose when it begins.