Growing up, I was constantly, painfully jealous. I would stare in awe at magazine ads, read stories of far-off places, and ache for a life full of designer clothes and exotic destinations. My family didn't travel (except for the annual trips to Georgia or Florida to visit relatives). We didn't go to plays, or museums, or concerts. We didn't watch documentaries, read books together, or do arts and crafts. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of family bonding moments over board games, Disney movies, and home-cooked dinners. My dad taught me to play chess at age 3 and there was always someone willing to help me study for upcoming tests. My parents just weren't hipsters - and although that wasn't a term I learned until college, that was what I desperately wanted to be. I was insecure and ashamed (of numerous things), and I eventually resigned myself to a life of "enough". I just wasn't enough - special enough, good enough, rich enough, cool enough. My stringy hair, lack of style, and narrow world view had to be enough - because it was all I was going to get. I went so far as to wearing my then boyfriend's oversized tees and sweatpants to school everyday - a comfy, but completely self-depreciating symptom of my resignation. And then one day "enough" just wasn't enough.
Numerous factors lead and played into my eventual transformation - getting a full time job and moving out of my parent's house at age 17, leaving my small town for college in the city, and making friends and taking classes that expanded, challenged, and altered my views, all had major impacts on my sense of self and self-worth. But none of these experiences would have been possible if I hadn't been open to the possibility of change - if I hadn't realized that I was not only capable, but deserving, of having any kind of life I wanted. And if I was asked to pick a singular moment or act that marked the beginning of that mental shift, it would undoubtedly be the night I got my first tattoo.
Tattooing, or body art (as much of the community prefers to call it), is a controversial issue and people's opinions fall all along a wide spectrum - from ink activists to those who believe that permanently marking the body is a mortal sin. So, in respect to all these varying opinions, I'd like to preface the remainder of this post with this: tattoos are not for everyone. Many people have regretting the decision to ink up, and at age 23 it would be naive to say that I will never feel the same way in regards to my (now 4, soon to be 5) pieces. In fact, after recently joining the ranks of corporate employees, I realize how uncommon body art is in the professional world (I have consciously expanded my wardrobe to include more long pants, socks, tights, and closed-toed shoes to cover my only exposed work -my feet). However, I can say that I got my first tat at age 16 and I love it today as much as I did then, if for no other reason than it marks a major turning point in my attitude towards my life and myself.
At 16, I wasn't the kind of girl to get a tattoo. I was a quiet, introverted, straight-A student, with all the makings of a true "nerd" who managed to hang on the fringes of the popular group (mainly due to the fact that the "cool" kids were actually really cool people for the most part - who were smart, ambitious, funny, and into theatre). * Fun side fact: the boy was one of these popular, actually cool kids. We had several classes together throughout high school. I wasn't exactly interested in dating him, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have given me the time of day at the time (not that I could blame him - as the post details, I had yet to develop into (or accept) my own awesomeness). But when that pulsing needle hit my skin for the first time, leaving the first drop of permanent green ink on my lower back (yes, I my first tat was the lovingly dubbed "tramp stamp" - I was 16 after all), something changed. Suddenly, I was the kind of girl who got a tattoo, which meant that I could be the kind of girl who did a LOT of things. I could travel, watch documentaries, read Vonnegut, cut all my hair off, go to museums, start a blog (!), live on my own, adopt a dog, wear scarves . . . None of these things happened overnight (in fact I just worked up the courage to do some of them in the last year or so), but they are all now things that are a part of who I am, and I have the power to change them or add to them at will.
So here I am - wearing my hipster oversized cardi, in my hipster town, outside of a hipster concert, with my hipster boy taking pics for my hipster blog (which in and of itself is the most hipster word on the planet).
Cardi: Victoria's Secret. Top, Shoes: Old Navy. Dress (worn as skirt): Forever 21. Belt: Body Shop. Necklace: private seller in WV
And the point of this long, rambling post is this: some people are born into the lives they want to lead - they are brought up artsy or cultured or hardcore thug-nasty - but some of us (I'd venture to say most of us) have to work for our street-cred. We have to cultivate the cool (or the decidedly uncool things that make us so very, very awesome). We spend every day striving to be the best version of ourselves - that person we see in our heads. Even though this process can be a struggle, today, I am grateful for it, because I get to look around at my life and say "not only is this everything I ever wanted, but I created it for myself". It's an empowering feeling.
And if you are out there and still living your life with "enough" - settling for who you think you are instead of who you're capable of being - I hope you gain some kind of inspiration from this post and realize that all it takes is a subtle shift to start your transformation. It doesn't have to be extreme or external (the way my tattoo was) - just make sure it's permanent.
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