It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment choice. In fact, I had been contemplating this for almost a year, ever since I hit the big 4-0. It was part of a personal bucket list—those things I had postponed for ages because I was too concerned about others’ opinions. Who was I to think I could write a book? Do “good girls” really get tattoos? As I turned 40, the inner dialogue that once echoed “no one” and “no way” faded into the background.
“Is this a midlife crisis?” a friend quipped, half-laughing, half-worried, when I brought up my tattoo plans.
“Absolutely not!” I shot back, feeling defensive. But what does a midlife crisis even mean? Is it the moment you realize you’ve been meticulously adhering to some unspoken rules of adulthood only to see those dreams crumble? Is it about prioritizing everyone else’s needs until you forget about your own? Or is it looking at missed opportunities and wondering if there are any left?
Maybe it is, in some ways.
I mulled over what my tattoo should represent, collecting images on a secret Pinterest board. Yet, I kept postponing the actual appointment, letting my 40th year drift by. As summer approached, I decided it was time to stop delaying. I discovered a local tattoo artist online whose work resonated with me and booked a consultation.
Walking into the tattoo studio clad in yoga pants and holding a Starbucks cup, I felt like a fish out of water among the heavily tattooed staff. It was a classic case of “one of these things is not like the other.” However, when Tara, the artist I had chosen, greeted me, I immediately felt a wave of comfort. She was friendly and attentive, reviewing my sketches and listening to my thoughts. Before I could talk myself out of it, I put down a deposit and scheduled an appointment for a month later.
In the weeks leading up to it, my confidence wavered. For someone who typically keeps her feelings close to the vest, getting a tattoo felt audacious. What if my family didn’t approve? What if my friends viewed me differently? What if it exposed parts of myself I wasn’t ready to share? And then I thought—so what?
The most important lesson I’ve learned in my 40 years is simple: No one is paying that close attention. There’s no secret society judging my flaws, and most people are too caught up in their own lives to notice mine. And if they do notice and have something negative to say? Well, there’s no way I can change their minds.
That’s how I found myself lying face down on a gray vinyl table, taking deep yoga breaths to cope with the pain, inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth.
“Is this worse than childbirth?” a fellow patron asked.
“Well,” I responded, “it certainly won’t take as long!”
Reflecting on her question, I realized I had been viewing this all wrong. Sure, a tattoo is a permanent mark, but my skin already tells a story filled with scars. Stretch marks from having two kids, a smooth patch on my leg from a childhood skateboarding accident, and a triangle scar on my hand from a kitchen mishap. And those are just the visible scars. At least a tattoo is a choice.
Tara shared a heartwarming story about her oldest client, a 76-year-old grandmother getting her first tattoo—an owl perched on a stack of pancakes. She surprised her family at a reunion with this bold move. If Grandma Owl could do it, so could I!
Tara also mentioned that she was soon going to tattoo her own mother. I hadn’t told my mom about my ink plans, and I worried about how she would respond. I often remind my 11-year-old daughter to think about whether she’d be comfortable with her choices being known to me; her reaction was predictably judgmental when I first broke the news to her about the tattoo.
My 8-year-old son was more laid-back. “Okay,” he said, “but it’s going to hurt.”
A few days before my appointment, I tried again to win my daughter over. She pondered for a moment and replied, “You know, Mama, when you get old and wrinkly, your tattoo will look bad.”
That gave me pause. Yes, I might regret this decision one day—tomorrow, in five years, or when I’m a wrinkly old lady. But I already have a collection of regrets neatly categorized in my mind: “people I’ve hurt,” “opportunities missed,” and “way too much spent on shoes.” While I can’t change those, the folder labeled “things left undone” is finally becoming thinner.
So I told her, and I hope she remembers this lesson as she grows: If my biggest regret when I pass away is a tattoo, then I’ve led a pretty fantastic life.
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Summary
Turning 40 prompted me to embrace my desires and check off things on my bucket list, including getting a tattoo. Despite initial hesitation, I found empowerment in making this bold choice, reminding myself that no one is truly watching. If my biggest regret turns out to be a tattoo, I will have lived a fulfilling life.