Balancing Act

How do you define 'balance?' Does it make you think of trapeze artists, gymnasts or yoga gurus? Do you apply it to the relationship between work and family? Or is 'balance' merely some word you have used to jazz up a paper or a story when what you're really trying to say escapes you?

For me, it's a combination of ink and identity.

In August of 2005, I set sail on the voyage of a lifetime as a student of Semester At Sea. In 100 days, my class circumnavigated the globe trekking nine different countries ultimately covering over 25,000 miles of land and sea. Prior to departure, I found the need to do some major soul searching. Afterall, this was my first attempt at international travel and I had a feeling that dozens of encounters with the unknown and unfamiliar awaited me. This quest for a personal foundation would be a treasure hunt with no map and no fellow comrades. At the end of the dotted line, I didn't exactly find a chest of ancient pirate's booty, but something infinitely more valuable: my own sense of personal balance...and a tattoo shop.

Three weeks before leaving for the Bahamas to meet my ship, the MV Explorer, I left on my lunch break to meet my appointment across the street at Tatfu Tattoo in downtown Flagstaff. I had a design dropped off the day before - a "simple something" that was was almost a year in the making. The design I chose fit all the right standards that I had regarding personal mutilation: personal, discrete, and placed somewhere that wouldn't show on the job or at my wedding. My cousin worked kitty corner to me and I forced her to come on her lunch break as a witness. Nick, my 'artist' told me that my tattoo would only take 15 minutes or so - no sweat, right? After playing with size and exact placement, I apprehensively agreed on an end result. A solid 15 minutes later, I did break a sweat and winced more than once, but I was a slightly different person. I was inked...



I managed to keep my tattoo a secret from my parents for the next three weeks. I had no intentions of hiding it from them - I was 20 years old and totally capable of making these kinds of decisions on my own. I figured, though, I'd let them find it themselves. My parents knew I wanted a tattoo - I brought 'the idea' up at dinner after I had already made my appointment. It was immediately met with opposition. My dad thinks tattoos are unnecessary and only sought out in acts of teenage rebellion, in my case delayed teenage rebellion. My mom stated that I was putting my entire experience with Semester At Sea at risk because my foot will get infected and I'll be sent home as a festering mess...

My dad saw it first in our hotel in Nassau while my mom was in the bathroom. As I was putting sunscreen on my legs, my dad stopped dead in his tracks and peered at the arch of my left foot.

"Did one of those ladies on the beach draw that on you?" he asked, completely in denial.
"No, it's real. I got my tattoo, dad."
My dad rolled his eyes and sighed acknowledging the fact that at least a dozen hairs on his head just turned grey.
"Well just don't let your mother see."

A matter of hours later, the three of us were at a ferry station waiting to explore the next island over. My parents were sitting on a bench and I stood about two feet in front of them when suddenly my mom's gazed became fixed toward the ground. She lifted her sunglasses to reveal an appalling look on her face.
"What is that on your foot?" she quizzed.
"I got a tattoo, mom."
"What does it say??"
"Balance." I took off my flip flop and stuck my foot in her face. My mom didn't move...and then she sobbed. 'Oh god, I made mom cry...' I thought. I started to explain in the most concise way possible the mental and emotional journey I went on that resulted in being inked when mom sobbed again and dad forced a smile.
"Oh honey, that's beautiful!" To my surprise, she liked it - she appreciated it! I saw my dad relax a little, but he still kept quiet.

My mom cried "happy tears" for the next 24 hours. I felt a sense of relief from her emotion. I think my parents know they raised a daughter right despite displaying innocent tattoos (multiple piercings and fuschia-colored hair dye are also a part of my past). I am their only little golden bundle of something wonderful that is the result of all their hard work and good intentions, and I was moments away from leaving the nest for bigger and better things. I felt like my parents understood me more as an individual and were more willing to let me brave the world, literally, on my own. I too, understood myself more than I ever had. I felt balanced.

Until next time, bon voyage!