GIGI GOES GAGA

TATTOO ON MY MIND

I've finally decided to get a tattoo for my birthday this year, which is only a few months from now. I'm not going to divulge any details here because I'm still mulling over the design and message I want, as well as who's going to be etching it on my skin. Since acute pain is going to be involved here, I'm so glad I get to pick my torturer (and you can bet I won't be deciding based on skill level and expertise only, but also other factors such as personal hygiene and personality. I mean the worst thing would be to get stuck for hours with someone who stinks -- both in smell and attitude -- yes?). 

The only thing I will say now is that this decision has been 20 years in the making. I've wanted one for this long, but decided to hold off for a few good reasons: One, in my 20s I didn't think I was capable of making decisions that involved permanence of any kind. Two, I was afraid of what my tat would look like as I got older; say, what if I got a butterfly on my lower back -- and then it transformed into an eagle by the time I hit my 50s? Lastly, it was THE thing to do; everyone I knew was doing it then. I figured if I waited long enough then I'd know for certain I wasn't getting one due to the whims of fashion or peer pressure.

I was talking to my hairdresser about this -- OK, I really meant to ask him just how much pain was really going to be involved here -- and he pointed to the four tats on both his arms. "I just got these last year," he said. He's in his mid-30s. He explained that he waited until he knew more about his life and what he wanted out of it, before he expressed it permanently on his body. And, yes, he gleefully told me about the pain -- all the different kinds of pain he endured. By the time he was done, my legs were twisted up to my chest and I was biting my knuckles as my head hung over backward at the edge of the shampoo bowl.

There are many things that I appreciate much more or better as I've gotten older. There are song lyrics and movies, for instance, whose meaning and message I now truly understand the way they're supposed to be. The way my clothes fit, the cut of my hair, and even the shade of my lipstick can make all the difference between frumpy and fabulous -- and so I know when it's OK to splurge and where to save. Sex is so much better for sure, as I've become more comfortable in my own skin. And even a decision to get tattooed -- which is customarily made by the young and rebellious -- finally feels right, at least for me.

And what if I'm wrong? Well, at least I don't get to live with it for quite as long as I would have if I made this decision 20 years ago. Permanence doesn't scare me quite the way as it used to as when "forever" really meant a lifetime back then.

DEAR DIARY

The other night I found three old diaries; two from the '80s and the third from the late '90s, during the latter part of my first marriage and after I'd recovered from the divorce. I started keeping a diary when I was nine years old, although I've been writing since I learned how to. Just like now, I didn't write daily, but only when I needed to make sense of my thoughts and find an outlet for my feelings.

I'm so glad I kept up this habit, albeit on and off, through most of my life. I can rediscover who I was at any particular time -- and sometimes I find that I can be pretty much the same now as when I was, say, 17 years old. For this reason I've purchased another notebook and have started writing again. It's not the same as blogging because, as open and honest as I've been here for the past six years, I still keep my most personal details to myself. One day, perhaps 10 years from now, I'd like to look back on who I was during this most remarkable period of my life thus far and see if I've changed, and especially if I've grown.

Here is an entry from June 18, 1998. I'm typing it as is, with no edits, except to disguise real names.

I think I've accepted that marriage doesn't suit me. And I'm scared I'll end up like F -- a string of lovers, one after another.

The truth is, I want a lover and a friend. Not a husband. And right now, I don't care for children, either. I'd like to marry when I'm 65, though. I don't think there's anything worse than dying alone.

I've heard this actress say in an interview that in the old days, when life expectancy hovered from the 40s to 50s, marriage was bearable. But now, with people living such long lives, it's cruel and unusual punishment.

I can't help but agree.

I'm not against love and commitment. Just against forced roles and rigid expectations. Which, so far, I think marriage is all about.

Five days after I wrote this entry, I asked my husband for a divorce.

PARDON MY DUST

I had a Political Science professor in college who once started his lecture with a simple message he scrawled on the blackboard: Flux = Stress. Any kind of change is stressful, he said. It doesn't matter whether the change we face is positive or negative, welcome or unwanted; we simply can't help but react to flux. Sometimes our instincts kick in and we try to stop things from happening -- even when they can be good for us. I suppose the concept of inertia comes to mind here, where physical objects naturally resist any change in their state of motion. Humans included.

Only halfway through the year and a general theme, for me, has been of profound loss. I've lost so much, not just those I love but also things that have provided me with a much-needed sense of comfort and stability all these years. My life has already changed dramatically, and I'm not quite the same person I was when the year started. Right now I feel like I'm trying to balance on a tightrope high up in the air, with no net to catch me in case I fall, and I'm trying to get through to the other side, to the end of this remarkable but mostly awful year. The worst is still to come, I fear, and when it's over I'll be facing extraordinary changes. I don't know what's in store for me, but I know the only way real transformation can occur is to have the courage to leave the past behind if necessary.

There have been amazing moments, to be sure, and surprising gifts I'm so grateful for. They remind me that there's much to be optimistic about, even now when it seems darkest. It's difficult for me to be more specific here, especially because events are moving too quickly for me to comprehend just what's happening. It's difficult to explain or describe this particular moment when everything's in constant motion. Especially when what's moving is me.

But I'll tell you what I know for certain, even in the middle of all this flux: I'm not going to let change stop me in my tracks. Instead I plan to fight through my fear of heights, remember to breathe, and keep on walking -- slowly, tentatively perhaps, just one foot in front of the other -- until I get to a stopping point, where I can finally appreciate where I came from and how I got here. And if I fall...

Well, I'll just get up and start all over again. Practice makes perfect, after all. At the end of this year I won't even be the same person writing this post right now, the one so worried about falling and getting up. Hopefully I'll be someone flying free.