My best friend wanted to go to the Getty Villa to see a new exhibit. “Thank you for letting me nerd out,” she said as I squatted down in my most serious photographer stance to take a picture of a statue’s butt. “Naturally.” We bonded over being smart girls in high school and are both trying to make our way through life as adults that were supposed to have it easy but….life.

As we strolled down the parcade, we were confronted with beautiful purple irises. Deep purple. White rimmed with the royal dark hue. “That, that’s the flower I want.” Irises are my favorite flower. I always loved the old timey name, the delicate but oddly beautiful and ugly petals. The vagina symbolism and ubiquity in O’Keefe’s work. The invocations for the goddess to guide women along a journey safely and loved.

Faith and hope that things will be okay. Wisdom and love, a display of compassion. I love this weird ass flower. One of my favorite of the floras.

So here I am, with my friend who keeps telling me that God has a plan for me and to be open to signs. A friend who had some major changes recently and kept saying she needed to take this as the stars are aligning, I joke that this must mean I should get that tattoo I’ve been talking about. I had spent the past year seriously considering getting one of these flowers on my right shoulder blade. I even had gotten a quote from one parlor but the sticker shock held me back.

I felt that it would be a reminder that I am healing, that I am okay, and something pretty to have on my skin. I also don’t have any piercings because they are too permanent, so this was a weird thought. But my thinking, the tattoo is complete, a piercing takes work and can’t be forgotten. I’m also scared of needles. Only now am I able to get blood drawn without crying since I have to have it done every 3 months.

This friend had recently gotten a flower tattoo, in honor of a family member, and she recommend that parlor. In the OC. Where I was heading the next day. I went to bed knowing this was going to happen.

I am considering a career change. I’m changing my view on what will make me happy. I’m falling in love with a friend and think it is okay we won’t be together. I’m falling out of love with my ex. This tattoo will be the manifestation of the current me for the world to see. I also keep thinking about it and need to just do things in life!

That next afternoon, I’m leaning forward on a body support while the tattoo is being done. It actually felt nice, mildly stung at the top and near my underarm but a satisfying sensation of discomfort. Enough to know I’ll be okay. Enough to know I’m taking risks. Honestly, today, the day after, hurts more as my skin learns to accept this intruding ink.

I still look at it and wonder, did I make a mistake? I can’t get rid of this. It’s part of me. It’s so pretty. It’s what I wanted and it all came together so easily, maybe the other things my soul is yearning for will too. Or maybe I’ll just have this picture on my skin to show people, I’m full of contradictions. I’m learning to let life in. I’m learning to accept the universe and let my soul trust it, even if my mind isn’t into the mumbo-jumbo.

I really do like this tattoo. Also, the artist asked if I was a swimmer because I have nice muscle definition. I’m not, I just really have to exercise my bad back and I’m still riding that wave of a compliment.