Forever, On Me

“Okay, we’re all done. Ready to see it?” I had been sitting for a few hours on the tattoo table, sore from lying there while questioning my life choices. I asked for this, although it’s my second tattoo and the pain was heightened by a heavy hand. 

As I sit up, life flows back into me as I realize this is the moment I've been waiting for in the last 4 hours or so. All the pain, the discomfort of sitting still, waiting for my life sentence. Just kidding. I mean, in a way, a tattoo does serve a life sentence on your body forever, so. Definitely a life sentence. 

I stood up after sliding my shoes back on and began my shuffle over to the mirror. Glancing out the window to my left, I could tell the sun slowly started getting in position to set. I could feel some of the rays find my face as if they were patting me for sitting so well. Turning my head, my eyes found the tattoo resembling the mountain that watches over Taos Pueblo. My home. 

“Wow,” I whispered under my breath while slowly rotating my wrist to see the tattoo wrap all the way around. On the inside of my wrist, you can see the north house up against the mountain I’ve stared at in wonder throughout my childhood. Having an unobstructed view at my grandmother’s house on the rez was a privilege that others pay millions of dollars to witness. Too many buildings covered up the Rocky Mountains in Denver, too many lights. They block the Milky Way from saying hello every night. 

“Whaddaya think? How’re you feeling?” my artist asked, tired, yet proud of his work. 

“I love it.”

The understatement of the century. Although I was super excited and blocking out the stinging pain, nothing else mattered in that moment. I couldn’t stop staring at it, trying to process that the tattoo existed and wasn’t going anywhere. Forever, on me.

I stood there for a moment, while Gabe started to clean up in the background. Even if it looked like no one was home in my head, the only thing I could feel in that moment was pride. Taos was my home, and although I didn’t always get to go visit now that I was an adult, it was my way to keep it with me. Remember who I was and where I came from. Something no one could take from me (quite literally). This tattoo symbolized that for me. 

Years later, and four years into my own tattooing career, I notice this look time and time again. I see it with every client, and I notice it when I become the client. The look of not just appreciation and processing, but one of connection.

Tattoos aren’t just about decorating your body with art, or what they are of or what they symbolize. From the first tattoos done thousands of years ago by indigenous peoples from around the globe, to the modern day appointment scheduling and walk-ins, they’ve always been about connecting you back to yourself. Even if it feels as silly as a dachshund doubling as a hot dog or your favorite animal, they always bring up something about who you are and how you connect to yourself. It could be because you’re going through grief and seeing a hot dog pun tattoo on you makes you smile and reminds you to see the humor that your loved one always seemed to radiate before they passed. Or it could be that having a sick shark tattoo brings you back to the curiosity and wonder you had as a child at shark camp. That last one was absolutely from personal experience. I was that cool that I went to shark camp. 

What I am getting at is that it has not mattered what tattoos I did, but about the privilege of getting to experience you connect with a part of yourself. That each tattoo was a picture of part of someone’s life. They come to me, a complete stranger, and trust me to realize that vision for them. Art that permanently lives on them through all of their future journeys. At the end of each appointment, my clients no longer are strangers to me. Hopefully I am a new friend they visit when they are ready to take a peek inwards again. 

Isn’t that neat? I am essentially a cute little magician that gets to be a part of someone else’s journey and help them reach their final form.

I’m writing all of this at an interesting time in my life. I’m nearly 30 and going through a period of burnout and confusion. Lately I have been comparing myself to a version of me that doesn’t even exist. That I “should” be at a certain level, that I “should” be making x amount of money, that I “should” have a nice house, car, all kinds of things. Oh, little Autumn had some amazing dreams, that one. I have always admired her ambition and ability to dream of a good life. Not living up to those standards have made me insecure to live, have given me the inability to rest, and pressured me to constantly be perfect and get it right the first time. Otherwise, I’m a failure for not living up to those expectations I set up for myself all those years ago. 

Feeling lost happens naturally, I get it. It’s so easy to get lost in everything that we do, get lost in our distractions so we don’t have to feel our thoughts. Especially that damn cell phone and addictive doomscrolling. I get it’s a joke, but if I open up any of my social media apps, it truly feels like doom and gloom. The state of the world is constantly changing, and constantly scaring us all into the apocalypse. 

That would be pretty dope if this survives, though.  

Can you tell where I have been mentally? Lost between not feeling anything, and feeling like I failed little Autumn. Failed those dreams, those wishes. Not knowing what is going to happen in the future, not knowing if anything I am doing actually contributes to the good in society or the world. It is difficult to enjoy anything when our perceptions are constantly fed with negativity. 

One of my favorite people recently reminded me of why I do what I do. Why I was so drawn to tattooing over anything else I could have done in my life. I wanted to be a professional musician, a biomedical engineer, a marine biologist, a therapist, an author. So many things, so many interests, not even enough time to do them all.

Art has been a recurring theme in my life, inspiring me to create. I’m forever grateful for its teachings and its gifts. Whether in the form of music or drawing, having the opportunities to create and learn drives a lot of what interests me. That early experience in getting tattooed is part of why I wanted to pursue it. More on that in another blog post. Giving someone else that experience of connecting them to themselves as a career feels like the epitome of existence that we don’t talk about enough. 

Although I do not know where my path will lead, and where different chapters in my story end and begin, I feel so lucky where I am right now. That pushing myself in this direction of tattoos as liberation and healing is where I find myself going at the moment. Not only that, but I see my path opening up to different opportunities in the artistic sense. Exploring myself in other mediums of art, connecting with people in various ways, that feels right. 

In this world where we are constantly glued to pocket computers with miles and miles of scrolling under our belts, it is so easy to stay disconnected from others in the age of an online world. The irony is a little too palpable with that one. On the other side of that irony, here I am, writing to you, the reader via the internet connection my apartment building provides. What a weird time that we live in. 

This is where I meet you. Here, in my super small corner of the internet, reaching out. Whoever finds me here, thank you for taking the time to read what I have to say, out of all people. I hope that this blog will feel like a breath of fresh air as you get to know another person on this hurtling rock flying through space with you. That you feel seen, that you feel inspired to connect, or even feel inspired to tell your story with me over a tattoo. 

Until next time in the chair, 

Autumn