Like a sailor on leave, I walked into a local tattoo shop and got inked. Then I had ice cream and beer for dinner. Ice cream because I had a real craving. Beer because I wanted a little alcohol to dull the pain; to help me relax after the time I spent clenched on the table.
In answer to your questions:
Yes, it hurt. It mostly hurt at the moment the needles hit my skin; once the artist was underway, it dulled. I was flooded with adrenaline, so much that I was shaking when I stood up. I constantly had to remind myself to breathe. It stopped hurting when the work was done and now, 12 hours later, it feels like a bad sunburn.
130 dollars, which includes a 20% tip.
Alaska Street Tattoo Parlor. I do everything as close to home as possible these days. I wanted an established shop and an artist with an extensive portfolio. I’m not against new artists but this is my first and I wanted a pro with a lot of experience. It wasn’t just about wanting a skilled technician, though. I wanted someone who had worked with a lot of people in case I freaked out.
I did not freak out or cry or look at the work and say “My God What Have I Done?”
Yeah, I was private about it. I mentioned I had an appointment to one friend during a passing conversation about tattoos, but I declined to provide more details. I had two serious conversations with friends who don’t live nearby. This was intentional; I didn’t want company and I didn’t want anyone to tell me what they thought. I had actually been thinking about it for a while, nearly two years, and was going to do it for my birthday, but stupid plague.
About an hour. Maybe a little more. That includes getting the art sized right and some fussing over the fill color. I wanted a coffee or sepia brown and the artist had to mix that for me. The off the shelf stuff was either too red or too dark. I didn’t want it to look like a scab and I didn’t want it to be so dark it looks black.
Because I wanted to mark this time in a literal way. I don’t have to tell you that this has been one fucked up era, do I? My therapist suggested that perhaps I needed a ritual. I think the concept of closure is bullshit, but I do think there’s a notion of “Fuck this shit, I’m not going to let it get to me anymore.” The therapist suggested setting some things on fire, but the things I’d like to burn will cause legal issues. Burning things would leave mere ashes, and I didn’t want to forget or create a void. At the risk of sounding dramatic, I wanted a monument. I have joked about wanting a medal or sash. A tattoo serves that role.
It says TRUTH in Hebrew. There’s this legend about the Golem. A monster made from clay. The Rabbi of Prague raises the Golem to protect the tribe during (yet another) era of antisemitism. The Rabbi builds the Golem from clay and writes the word TRUTH on it to bring it to life.
In the early part of my divorce, I was worried that I was going to lose my home. I had to make some painful sacrifices to get out. The whole process made me think a lot about truth and justice and how they’re not the same thing. How you can have one without the other. How speaking the truth calls monsters into being. I thought about this myth, how in some versions of the story, it goes badly. I thought about how the Rabbi could call a Golem into being, get the protection desired, but still suffer such losses.
There’s a lot of other stuff, too, about how I wrote a book, about how truth matters to a writer. About what it’s like to tattoo Hebrew in a visible place on my atheist Jewish skin.
But mostly, I think about how this fucked up era has required we be our own protectors. I had to hire a lawyer to guide me, but it was my job to protect my home. I have been vaccinated, hallelujah, but prior to the shot, I had to behave in specific ways to keep myself healthy. I think back to when I was suffering from depression, I recall the moment I realized I was going to have to act to save my poor beleaguered brain.
None of this is meant to diminish the remarkable kindness I experienced from others during some of the blackest days; I am so grateful and my life is full of gifts. But acknowledging the truth is what saved me. I want to remember that.
Yes, it hurt. Not nearly as much as what I’ve been through. And it won’t take nearly as long to heal.
congratulations on your new ink! I managed to collect 9 of them between 1976 and 1995. lots of people have said, “Didn’t that hurt?”
well, yes. but I’ve gone through lots of more painful experiences that didn’t leave me any positive results. on balance, the tattoos were good tradeoffs.
① Your fresh tattoo looks great. Congratulations.
② Solid post, with good info and insights.
③ For a long time, I’ve been thinking of getting my first tattoo, and your post is a kick in my butt — thank you for that.