About my wings, finding what was lost, and Halloween

Somewhere along the line, I lost myself. I hid my thoughts and feelings from my coworkers for five and a half years. Because the place was so conservative, I had to change the way I behaved, the way I dressed, and the way I look. My tattoos barely saw the light of day for that period of time. I even put my makeup on differently.

Unfortunately, now I'm trying to find myself again, and I'm not sure what's left of the person I was. It's not necessarily a bad thing. I just have to reinvest in myself, introspect, meditate, and get back in touch with the essence of my being. But, being alone with myself is tough. I haven't been without busy work for as long as I can remember. 

Whenever I've gone through a big transition, I've cut my hair off. This time, I cut it shortly before I left my job, the week I was on vacation. Like a reptile shedding it's skin, there's something liberating about physically removing a part of myself when entering a new era. I am a different person now. Literally. I like myself a lot more this way. I feel peaceful.

This fall, I'm going to alter myself again - physically. I've been planning a new tattoo for two years. James sketched it for me right around my birthday. I've been carrying it in my purse since then. It's Maya's name in Arabic drawn into the form of a water lily. I want to have it tattooed over my heart.

This has me thinking about my first major tattoo, which was also two years in the making. This October will be the nine year birthday of my wings. This is significant because it will also be my nine year anniversary with James and our seventh wedding anniversary. 

For the two years prior to meeting James, I thought about getting wings tattooed on my shoulderblades. At the time, I was fascinated by fairies and faery lore. Not Tinkerbell, but real faeries: The good, the bad, and the ugly. I started researching Amy Brown's fairy depictions. I liked hers the best of all the artists. Her fairies are playful, sweet, fun, mischievous, beautiful. Many are grounded in reality with bold, opaque colors. I love the ethereal look, but that's just not me.

So, I printed out my favorite Amy Brown pieces and went to my favorite tattoo studio. Sacred Heart Studio in Houston, a purple house converted to a two part studio, half dedicated to piercings and the other to tattoos. It's brightly lit and painted several different neon colors inside. Parked in back is the shop owners' art car: A giant yellow sunflower. 

The owners themselves are some of the most attractively decorated people I've ever seen. She's an older woman, probably early to mid forties, very fit, with short hot pink hair, dramatic makeup, spacers in her ears, and a lip piercing that looks like a Cindy Crawford mole. He's a short but very fit older man whom I can only describe as having the appearance of an artist. They don't talk much, but, when they do, their kind and eclectic personalities shine through.

So, I went in and asked for Danny, the tattoo artist who had done a different tattoo for me previously. The Danny that came up front to talk to me was not the Danny I remembered. I asked what happened to the other Danny, and new Danny told me he'd been shot and killed by his girlfriend. Um.... awkward.... 

But, new Danny and I got to know each other a bit. I showed him my printouts and explained my vision to him. He promised to draw up some sketches and call me in when they were ready. 

During this same period of time, I met James. After a rocky start, we became good friends. He came with me to get my tattoo. There were two sessions. At the first, while I winced in pain for a couple of hours, he held my hand and made jokes to distract me. Danny asked how we met. We both laughed and said we were "just friends."

By the time my wings were complete, James and I were a couple. I hosted a Halloween party where I debuted my wings. The two of us went shopping together for costumes. I found mine in the discount section because it was missing the wings, and, of course, that wasn't a problem for me. James didn't find anything. Once he decided what he'd be for my party, he wouldn't tell me. He wanted it to be a surprise. 

He came to my party as the Crow.

Life sometimes imitates art. Or is it vice versa?

James and I were married Halloween weekend. I wanted to be married on Halloween that year, but it was on a Monday. Instead, we were in London for our honeymoon. We got lost in Kensington Gardens, locked in after hours, but we didn't mind. We strolled hand in hand down well groomed paths between perfectly straight aisles of trees until we found an exit. We toured the streets, parks, and alleys with Brits in all sorts of costumes: ghouls, goblins, princesses, fairies, rag dolls, comic book characters....

I love Halloween, and here is why: We get to dress up. We get to be someone else. We get to show on the outside what we think we are on the inside. We express our humorous, fun, dark, and/or sensuous natures to the world. We can pretend for one day that we are not ourselves, and, in that moment, we are more like ourselves than ever. 

Positivity?..Possibly

Let's talk about something positive. Like puppies and kittens. Or rainbows and unicorns. That's positive, right?

Ha! Who am I kidding? I don't do positive. I've done all sorts of self-help, and the fact is, I can find the worst in just about anything. I never thought anyone could top me until I met my husband. He hates people. Not any person in particular, just people in general. After being with him for eight years, I'm starting to see his point.

Would we humans devolve into anarchy and chaos if there were no laws to protect us, no "common sense" to guide us, no morality, no rules, no religion?

I studied philosophy, in fact, I minored in it in college, and I still debate this question. Are people inherently good or evil? Or both? Or neither?

Putting aside the extreme cases, look at how we interact on a daily basis. Commuting on the highway. Vying to be first in the checkout lane. Office politics. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. In the long run, do any of those things even matter? Will I worry about which parking spot I got at the grocery store at age 30 when I'm 80? Hell no.

This could be a very subjective question, one based on where and when you are born and raised. How much of our personalities is determined by nature versus nurture?

An example for contemplation: My maternal grandmother was a foster mom to countless children. Many of the children who grew up alongside my mom were from abusive homes, and I don't mean normal abusive. I mean literally treating a child like a dog, complete with leash, bowl, and sleeping on the porch. The boy in question grew up to be a lawyer, a father, and a husband. He's very successful, and recently took my parents out on his yacht. How do you account for that? He says it was my grandmother, but others came through her house and did not turn out that well.

Another case in point, my neices. Three are from broken homes. Two are "good" girls and one's a "bad" girl. Their circumstances are largely the same, so why did one end up in a "home" for girls miles away from her family because she was deemed a bad influence on her younger siblings while the other two could have their pick of any boy (or girl) and any college they want?

I wonder these things about my daughter. How will she end up? Even if James and I stay together, even if we give her the best possible upbringing, what will she do with her life? She's so bloody fucking headstrong, even at three years old. Will she do everything in her power to test us? Will she specifically look for ways to hurt herself, or us, or both?

In other words, will she be like me?

And anyway, what's wrong with me? I've done some horrible shit, some things I won't go into now. Some things my seventeen year old self would NEVER in a million years have thought possible.

In my darkest moments, which I'm sorry to say have been numerous, though not recent, I've wondered why any of it matters. Why do we strive toward anything at all? Aren't we all just matter? Just atoms moving about, making minimal impressions in the grand scheme of things? When you look at things from the earth's perspective, aren't we insignificant? Doesn't an ant think it's own life is pretty darned important?

I learned about the history of our planet in theology. Yes, theology. I'm pretty sure my professor's intention was not to prompt me to contemplate the human race's insignificance, but it did. Our planet is so old, and, yet, it's young compared to the universe. So, what does that make us? If we are barely a blip on the universe's map, what is our purpose in existing at all?

I was raised a Catholic, but my problem is that I question, and, therefore, I am. I have so many questions, and Jesus doesn't give me answers. Only riddles; mysteries. I am supposed to have faith that my life has a purpose. Unfortunately, I wasn't born with oodles of patience or faith.

The reason I toyed with suicide so much was because I didn't believe my life had any purpose. But, the will to survive is instinctual, and I couldn't fight it. Believe me, I tried.

I didn't think my life had purpose until I had Maya. When she came into the world, when I brought her into the world from my own flesh, my own agony, I realized that she is my purpose. Even if it's only to continue our species (which it's not), bringing her life into the world and raising her to the best of my ability is my life's purpose. And, I'm okay with that. Because she is who she is, and she will be who she chooses to be, and her life may bring new life or impact other lives in a meaningful way.

She is not, nor will she ever be, nothing. And neither am I. And neither are you. We are important. I don't know why or how. I don't know why other people suffer and die. But I'm dying every day. And so is she. And so are you.

We live. We breathe. Every day, our lives touch others, whether positively or negatively. Then we die, and our deaths mean something to someone. Not just someone, but the people whose lives we have touched. 

And that means something.

Doesn't it?