Ink & Impermanence

There I was standing in the shower, breathing deeply, letting the steamy warmth thaw my muscles while the gentle waterfall washed sleep from my eyes…

Looking down, I caught a glimpse of my tattoos—scattered constellations of stories spread across my skin—triggering a now-familiar line of thought: 

How they’ve changed, and how I’ve changed with them.

I have enough tattoos that I lose count, some pieces blend into one another, and getting a new one isn’t a big deal.

For me, that magic number is apparently 18—representing dozens of hours and thousands of dollars spent in studios from around the world—on Vancouver Island and Maui, in Vancouver, Seattle, New York City, London, Santo Domingo, and Phuket.

At first, I craved significance—the idea that these timestamps from different times in my life could anchor me to standout moments, ideas, or a particular version of myself. But life shifts, and so do we. Those meanings? They haven’t vanished.

But they have softened, like their very ink bleeding gently into the skin over time.

Now, each piece has three stories that make up their whole:

1. The story of significance and meaning that inspired the idea.

2. The story of getting the tattoo itself.

3. The story I tell myself now.

When you first start getting tattoos—and for some I’m sure this never fades—there’s much thought put into the idea, the meaning behind the idea, and the execution. At least that was the case for me—which has indeed faded.

In contrast, my two most recent tattoos are of Pokémon crossovers:

Wizard Squirtle and Gengar Shelby, one on each calf, who were both spur of the moment ideas combining different interests in a way that made me smile and laugh.

I’ve found that the less meaning I try to imbue into a tattoo, the happier I am, and the more satisfied with the piece I am in the short and long-term—which I think is what really matters as far as tattoos go.

Thus, my personal tattoo criteria has evolved to now being fun, off-the-cuff, and organic… Or whimsical, you might say… Rather than contriving meaning.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with this latter approach… And I understand from first-hand experience why you might want the artwork being embedded into your skin forever to hold a deep, layered meaning—it’s just not for me anymore.)

Part of me wishes I’d stumbled upon whimsy earlier in my life—had let myself play instead of searching for weight and meaning—but maybe that’s the beauty of tattoos… 

They’re timestamps of who we were, even if we didn’t have everything all figured out.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander