“Just when I think I have learned the way to live, life changes”-Hugh Prather
Two months into college at the University of Minnesota and nobody prepared me for this moment. Nobody told me how college would bring me the best and worst times of my life. Nobody told me the difficulty of being away from my family, friends, and adorable golden doodle Jax. Everyone told me it was going to be the best four years of my life. It seemed impossible to find and make friendships, without comparing them to lifelong friends 500 miles away. I was overwhelmed at the feeling of being lost, alone, and nonexistent from myself. Nevertheless, I could see myself changing as an individual before my own eyes —an unrecognizable face in an unfamiliar mirror. On October 16, 2015, I finally began to understand the inevitable change I will face as I journey through the rest of life. Earlier that morning, I woke up ecstatic for the prosperity of a new day. As usual, I listened to John Mayer and brewed a cup of black coffee. I sat in my plaid pajamas on my horribly uncomfortable futon, taking in that quiet morning before the inevitable chaos of a Friday would settle. I sat a few minutes too long, and before I knew it I was late. A quick shower, five-minute makeup, and a pullover sweatshirt with my favorite leggings were all I had time for. Running to my 9:00 a.m. lecture, I made it just in time. On my way home from class, I became evoked by a wave of sadness as I looked over the Minneapolis skyline. Staring at the gloriously tall buildings as the sun beamed down, I thought about the lives of all those tiny people working in tiny cubicles. I envied them for their lives that seemed so put together. I then hit a proximal point in my new college experience where I missed my old life, where I did have it figured out. Whenever I am in distress, I know if I talk to my older sister, Justine, I will find immediate happiness. Justine attends the University and is not only my biggest role model academically, but also my biggest role model in life. She is the one person in this world who knows me inside and out. Knowing she would put a smile on my face, I called her and she said she would be right over. I hurried back amidst the perpetual tears urging to escape my weary, green eyes. As she arrived, I held back those tears and got in the car. “You are skipping your Chemistry lecture today.” I was shocked. I am an individual who would have never skipped class if my life depended on it. I sat there in silence, fighting back tears and trying not to inhale her strawberry scented air freshener. “Sometimes you need to think about your own personal happiness. If skipping a class or two will make you feel better, do it.” After a long pause, I shut my bloodshot eyes and realized I was not the same person I came to college as. Change is a good thing, but sometimes difficult to grasp and comprehend as an eighteen-year-old young adult, surviving on minimal sleep and too much coffee. “I need a physical change in my life,” I desperately said. I was pondering all the things I could do to change my life: a haircut, a new piercing, or some retail therapy. Then it hit me. “Let’s get tattoos,” I said with the slightest excitement in my voice. My sister stared at me in disbelief. In our household, we are not allowed to get tattoos until we are able to support ourselves. If my parents were to ever find out, we would be in so much trouble; however, I needed a reminder of my purpose in life. I needed comfort that I had good things going for me. Despite the infinite lists of cons, I decided I would get a tattoo with my sister. Just like that, we were on our way. The entire car ride to downtown Minneapolis was filled with nervous energy. There was anticipation, hope, and change in sight. We pulled up to a red building. Yellow neon lights reading “Tattoo” illuminated the sidewalk. Despite our mutual nervousness in the moment, we confidently walked in, as if the action of inking our body was not a big deal. There were two artists sitting behind the counter. “Can we help you?” The woman asked politely. It was at that moment I began to doubt myself. Years prior I had always promised myself I would never get a tattoo, and here I am checking into an appointment—my appointment. “We have an appointment at 4 p.m. I’m Justine Jones, I had called earlier.” After a short pause, the man walked over to us and handed us a stack of forms. “You will need to sign all of these forms. It’ll be about ten minutes until we are ready for you.” We signed a lot of papers. I felt like I was signing away my life, my body for one inch of permanently marked skin. When they were finally ready for us, I chugged a cold class of water and anxiously followed them back. The room was white, with an operating-like table sitting in the center. For a moment, I forgot I was voluntarily doing this to myself. There were several pictures of others’ tattoos hanging up on the walls. I kept looking at them, wondering what their purpose was on that day. I kept wondering what had urged them to completely cover themselves in a mystery only they would understand. When I saw the prepped tray of materials near the table, I nearly jumped. “Who is up first?” The artist asked. “I am the bigger sister, so I will,” Justine said with a smile. I stared at her striking green eyes, pasty skin, and dark brown, short hair. I simply smiled and instantly felt a sigh of relief. Not only did she take me here because I was having a bad day, but she was completely supporting and excitedly agreeing with this, perhaps, irrational decision. In this moment, I realized she is my person and will always be my person in this world. During these times of experimenting my newfound adulthood, I was reassured she would always be here for me no matter what I face for the rest of my life. The buzzing of the needle began. “Does it hurt? Please tell me it doesn’t hurt,” I asked my sister with fear in my eyes. “Not at all, just a little tingly. You will be just fine, I promise.” Ten minutes later, we strutted out of there like we were changed. Encompassing one inch of my bony ankle reads “70 x 7” in white ink. I would love to explain the meaning; however, it already frightens me a little that I have shared almost my entire life story with you all. Every single time I look at it, I am reminded of all the wonderful things in my life: the rebellious freedoms of being a college student, my sister and best friend, God, and my individualistic, changing self. I may regret my permanent tattoo in five or even ten years, but it will always remind me of who I was at this point in my life. It is inevitable to change as a person as I journey through life, but this tattoo marks me as who I am now. P.S. I am sorry dad if you have finally figured out how to read my blog. I promise you can hardly see it!!!
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