Quill on my hand

A couple weeks ago, I did the unthinkable: I tattooed my hand.  
This one was not like the rest of my growing collection of tattoos; it was not concealed on my ribs or back, nope this one is my most personal yet and right on in the open for everyone to see.  I digress...

It began when my dad went to visit our neighbours at Electric Umbrella, to add to his growing collection of tattoos, but returned with an appointment card with my name on it.  Initially I was excited, because I had been wanting a new one for years.  My boyfriend had come up with the concept of the quill on my hand, because he knew I was fond of writing and felt it would be meaningful.  I struggled with the idea for days as ink on the hand just screams un-hireable, and even in a day and age where tattoos are becoming more widely acceptable, the hand tattoo still is considered taboo.  I walked into that tattoo parlour reassuring myself that it was my life, my body and my choice.  After all, I had just been laid off from my job and didn't have any employer to answer to.  I repeated my mantra over and over again.  Days later, when the adrenaline rush was completely gone and as I stared at my hand my subconscious screamed "What have you done?!"  You see, it may be meaningful and oh so beautiful, but the truth is I haven't seriously written in over a decade.

***
Growing up, I was a fairly creative child.  I would create complex story lines for all my toys; each one belonged to an extended family and had a deep and emotional back story.  I always loved reading, so naturally I began to express myself through written word.  My Nana encouraged me to write; be it simple thoughts or ideas, she would always be there with a pen a notebook, insisting I put it into words.  After she passed away, anytime I recalled her faith in my skills, I couldn't help but feel that I had left her down.  

My 7th grade teacher was also an inspiration to me.  She declared my writing full of whit and character and she, being a published novelist herself, made me think maybe a writing career was possible.  She recommended me for English Honours in high school and sent me off with encouragement.  I made that leap from elementary to high school and began to lose my way.  My grades began slipping, so I was promptly removed from English Honours.  No longer did my teachers encourage, but hell, they didn't even care if we showed up to class.  I put in the minimal amount of effort and tried to keep my head down until graduation.  When it came time to enrol in University, my mom excitedly pointed out all the creative writing courses available to me.  I remember sitting in a circle in creative writing, each of my classmates holding a copy of my essay, one by one telling me every single thing that was wrong with it.  The professor called it critiquing, but by the time they were finished I felt there was nothing left to be proud of.  

I finished up my BA with a Major in English, but stuck to literature classes and fact based papers, free from any creative flair.  It wasn't until last year when I started an Administrative position with the provincial government that I was reminded of my love for the spoken word.  Colleagues began approaching me and asking that I read their professional papers and edit through an English perspective.  By the end of my contract I was looking for any excuse to edit or draft correspondence and realized that this is my path.  

I realized finally that I was doing a great disservice to my loved ones who believed in me, but more so I was doing a great disservice to myself by never giving myself a chance to succeed.  Yes there will always be someone with a negative comment, but that's life.  No great artist was ever truly appreciated in their time.

That is why I chose to start this blog, as a means to finally express myself again through written word.  
Because every time I look down at my tattoo I wonder how something can mean so much, yet nothing at all.  
Because every time I look down at my hand I am disappointed in myself for not pursuing something that I love.  
Because every time I look down, I am reminded of who I am and where I want to be...