Hippie Chick's Heavenly Ride

Avoid clichés. Any freshman comp professor will tell you this is one of the cardinal rules of writing, and this was certainly true when I stood in front of a classroom. However, I cannot help but start this post with the following statement: “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

I’ve met Loose Bruce on various occasions since embarking on this writing project. A self-proclaimed ‘crusty old biker,’ Bruce looks and dresses the part: his sun-tanned skin has the handsomely weathered look of a man who has logged thousands of miles on the open road, with windblown, pony-tailed hair never restrained by a helmet. One of the reasons Bruce migrated to South Carolina from Tampa, Florida was because there isn’t a helmet law here.

Clad in leather and denim, Loose Bruce is a quintessential outlaw biker. 

On the surface at least.  

Ask him about his wife, or his relationship with God, and that crusty façade crumbles – revealing an incredibly spiritual, sensitive and sage soul on a mission to reach others for Christ through his testimony and witness.

When I met Bruce, he was at Amber Island having some work done on a large skull piece on his stomach. Albeit an incredible work of art, what caught my attention was the tattoo located on his upper right chest. The piece depicts an urn cradled in the hollow of a dead tree and juxtaposed with these images of death are flower blossoms, a mushroom and the essence of smoke spiraling out from the top of the urn.

 

 

The tattoo is a memorial for Bruce’s wife Cynthia Marie Darty Harrison. She was killed in a tragic automobile accident in April 2011.

“That represents that with death you have life. Her spirit is going to Heaven via the smoke coming out of the urn. Then you have flowers and the mushroom growing out of the dead tree, see?,” Bruce explained. “That’s to represent the new life that comes with that death. That’s what that represents. And to me, in my way of thinking, she’ll ride with me you see? She’ll ride with me forever. Via that memorial.”

The way the story goes, Bruce came to Pickens County South Carolina, from Tampa Bay Florida, with a suitcase in one hand and a TV in the other. He landed a job in a local sawmill where he met a guy by the name of David.

David was a rough fellow, according to Bruce. Drunk. Since David didn’t have a car, Bruce offered to give him a lift home from work. There Bruce met Cindy, and the rest was history.

The way Bruce tells it, “his wife was my wife, only he didn’t know it yet. She was from Alabama and I was from Tampa and we met and fell in love in the Carolinas.”

When they first met, for Bruce, it was like love at first sight:  “She had them spandex bicycle shorts on, and I thought, man, who’s this foxy woman. Then she jumped over the table and punched her man David in the head for some infraction,” Bruce recalled.

“And I said ‘boy’ that’s my kind of woman. You know, back-up. Living the biker lifestyle you want your old lady to be able to back you up in case someone brings a chair over your back. You know?”

 

Cindy wasn’t as fond of Bruce. He says she couldn’t stand him, but his deep-seated sensitive soul eventually won her over.

On Christmas Eve the two went to see some light displays. Bruce looked at Cindy and said:” You know these lights are beautiful. But not as beautiful as you.” 

“That changed her way of thinking about me,” said Bruce. “And we got to know one another.” 

So another Christmas Eve rolled around and he said: “I don’t care if I have to whip your old man’s ass, I have to kiss you. I have to know. She kissed me and, boy, sparks flew. And the fella’s Dad was there that Christmas and he walked over and told his son – he says ‘that man right there is fixing to take your wife.’ Because he saw the connection."

Bruce grew up in an era where a man’s word was his bond. Cindy was a married woman, but eventually, her husband got in a bunch of trouble with the law. Busted for drugs. Cindy had three children, ages 5,6 and 7. After fate stepped in and removed Cindy’s husband, Bruce stepped up and made his move.

“I told her, well, Cindy, you know I love you. I’ll take the whole package. Kids and all,” he said. “So we moved in together. I was born in a time when your kids are your kids regardless. They were my children and we raised them the best we could.”

Bruce and Cindy Harrington were married for seventeen years.

There are times when I feel disadvantaged as a writer because I cannot capture in words, try as I might, the emotion an individual displays when they are talking about someone they love. The hint of tears in his eyes, coupled with raw warmth of his voice, overwhelmed me with the infinite love Bruce continues to feel at the very mention of his 

wife’s name.

Listening to him talk was like watching Love Story, Out of Africa or countless other versions of Hollywood love stories – only this story is true, and while it might not have been without flaw, it was genuine and tangible. I couldn’t help but feel tears well up in my own eyes and say a silent prayer that somehow, some day, someone would – could love me like that.

 

“We had our ups and downs, but every couple does. She knew what I was thinking before I’d say it. And she loved to ride – just like I did. Her motor-cycle name was Hippie Chick. She always wore fancy flowered shirts and beads,” said Bruce. “We’d ride around. We’d go to the flea market. We’d come back and you couldn’t see the bike for all the stuff. And she was back there. My passion. My soul mate. She was special.”

And in an instant, like a snap of the fingers, Bruce’s life was forever changed in April 2011.

Bruce, Cindy and friends of theirs were at a bike show. Everyone had been drinking. 

“We had a little argument about this, that and the other, and I said I’m going home. She said well I’m going with Steve [one of their friends and neighbor]. I went home and went to bed. I didn’t think nothing about it. Sleep it off you know,” said Bruce. “Policeman woke me up and told me she was dead. I didn’t believe it. He just kind of threw her rings on the kitchen table. I balled my eyes out. I cried. I asked God why. Then I loaded a gun and was fixing to go kill him.”

As he walked out into the sunlight of his front yard, Bruce, loaded rifle in hand, heard a voice. 

“It said, ‘Son, go put that rifle up. I’ve got things for you to do.’ And it didn’t come from my mind; it came from my heart. I went and hung it up. I walked back out into the yard and I fell to my knees. And I prayed for God’s help,” Bruce recalled.” He sent one of the brothers from my church over to my house the next morning. I come out looking like 30 miles of bad road – hung over. Hurting. In pain. The woman I loved dearly is gone now.”

Billy hugged Bruce and told him God loved him. Invited him to church that Sunday. Bruce hasn’t missed a Sunday service since.  

“Soon as I walked in that door, God was like – ‘Son. I got this,’ he said. “I get a little teary over it still. I know in my heart that it’s going to be alright. I miss her. I’ve got a lot of fond memories. The rose that’s tattooed there [and Bruce points toward his right upper arm] was on the back of her vest. Very same rose. She’s still riding with me.”

Bruce believes he has touched a lot of people with his story. I don’t doubt it. His story certainly spoke volumes to my heart.

“This has changed my whole life. I think of myself as a child of God. The way I used to think – I’d cut your throat in a minute. Screw with me and we’re gonna fight,” Bruce chuckled. “But now I think Lord help them, see, they know not why they do it. God has called me to witness to folks. To tell them what He has done in my life.”

“They look at a cat like me, and when they first see me, they think Good Lord! Outlaw biker. But they feel that presence when I’m there. That joy. They see the joy in my heart and want to see where I’m getting it. See that’s what God wants me to do. I like to hear myself talk. So I might as well talk about God.”

Bruce affectionately refers to himself as a crusty old biker, and in many ways he is. The label suits him. 

It would be easy to look at the leathered, crusty Harley exterior and make any number of stereotypical assumptions about the soul housed in the interior. I’m not a gambler, but I would be willing to bet that the majority of those would be misconceptions. 

Loose Bruce exemplifies the notion that one cannot judge a book by its cover.  As the Hippie Chick who loved him learned, sometimes you’ve got to take a leap of faith and hold tight for the ride. 

What's in a Name? A Mother's Love for her Children

I know several people who have had the names of boyfriends and girlfriends – husbands and wives – tattooed on their bodies – the ultimate romantic gesture. I’ve also seen these same people, years, months, weeks, days later, having the same names covered up.

I’ve heard it said before that having someone’s name tattooed on your body is the kiss of death to relationships. Is this true? I really don’t know. And I am not entirely certain where I stand on the issue. There is someone in my life whose name I would like to have tattooed on my body. Holding tightly to superstition (or, on a deeper level I have feared uncertainty) he has convinced me that this is a bad idea.

As with anything and everything in life, there are some couples whose relationships have survived having their partners name tattooed on their bodies. For other couple, perhaps it was the kiss of death.

Whatever the case, I would be willing to bet it is more a function of the relationship than the tattoo, but this one statement could turn into an entire essay or dissertation all on its own merits.

There are a lot of people who have the names of people they love tattooed on their bodies. As I think of the title of this project – “Soul to Skin” – I think of tattoos as visible reflections of those intimately important things we feel in our hearts and souls. Most of us have people in our lives that we love. People who have touched those deep and often inaccessible places in our hearts and spirits. In my experience, a love that strong – the kind that stirs our spirit in ways we never dreamed – is something I (you?) want to share with the entire world.

I have the initial ‘e’ in two different tattoos to represent my daughters, Emerson and Eleanor. Recently I had a tattoo placed on my ankle that is scripted in my Mom’s handwriting. My daughters and my mother are part of who I am – biologically, familiarly, emotionally, spiritually – it only made sense to want all of those internal love connections made visible on my skin. I am not alone.

It has been several months since I met with Tracey. She had several interesting stories to tell, and I will do so – one at a time. Even without knowing her or having a conversation with her, the art on her body speaks volumes about the love she has for her children and family. The depth of feeling in her heart and soul is recognizable to the naked eye.

Her children’s names are scripted on her wrists – a mother’s badge of pride and celebration for and in honor of the sons and daughter who mean more to her than mere words can describe. As a mother, and, I imagine as many mothers out there reading this, I can relate completely to my children being the center of my universe. Despite the mistakes we might make along the way as we hone our parenting skills, our children, my children, are the most amazing things I have done with my life. If I were to draft a resume of my life’s greatest accomplishments, Em and Ella would be at the tippy-top of the list above anything and everything else I have done.

This story, and I apologize for the digression, is about Tracey.

In January 2008, Tracey, her three children and her cats, packed up their belongings and memories, gently placed into a U-Haul and moved from Maryland to Liberty, South Carolina. Her husband, at that time, remained in Maryland preparing the home they had lived in for sale.

He finally made it down to Liberty the following August, and almost immediately upon his arrival, announced that he wanted a divorce. Tracey and her husband had been married for 17 years, and despite hindsight which has made her think that he had been planning the divorce for some time, 17 years is a long time to love another person, to share a life, to share children. 17 years’ worth of memories (good and bad), love, laughter, tears, worries, victories … no one but a robot could wipe these things out of her heart and mind in a matter of minutes.

No matter how poor a marriage might be divorce is painful for all parties involved. Bottom line.

As I talk with Tracey, I am impressed by her compassion and tender-heartedness; within her I also see a fighter and a strong woman. Someone who is capable of grieving yet simultaneously picking herself up by the old proverbial boot-straps and getting on with the getting on. Frankly, as a mother who has children depending on her, Tracey (and other women like her) had no other option really. She picked up the pieces and started to reconstruct a life without her husband.

Possessing a new found freedom, Tracey decided that she was going to start living for herself instead of making choices that centered, primarily, on pleasing her husband. Because he had never been a fan of tattoos or the amazing artistry brought to life in their indelible placement on a human canvas, one of the first things Tracey decided to do for herself was to get the tattoo she had always wanted.

Tracey has always had an appreciation for art. Her home is decorated with paintings done by her step-dad. Her appreciation of art extends beyond traditional forms of paint, watercolor and charcoal sketches, evidenced by the fact that she had always wanted a tattoo. After seeing the 1981 film Tattoo – staring Bruce Dern and Maude Adams – her appreciation of tattooing morphed into a deeper love for the artistry.  Tracey recalls that “it was kind of a spooky movie,” but she loved the way the tattoos looked.

On October 17, 2008, Tracey got her first tattoo. The significance of the date: it was her wedding anniversary. She and her husband were no longer together; rather than succumbing to sadness, Tracey decided to make the day an opportunity to celebrate the positive aspects of this new chapter in her life.

Located on her lower back, Tracey’s first tattoo celebrates the bond she shares with her children, parents and sister.

 

“It’s a heart with wings and Sam did it at Amber Island. Underneath of it - it has starting at my youngest son’s initials, then my middle son, then my daughter, and then my sister and then my parents. Because first of all, they lift my heart, so the wings are them,” said Tracey. “Your children will always be your children. Your siblings will always be your siblings. Your sister is always going to be your sister and your parents are always going to be your parents, but there is no way in hell that your husband [is always going to be] your husband. So his initials are nowhere. Even though he [her son] is a junior, it always says ‘jr’ after his initials.”

Inspired by another woman with whom Tracey worked, she decided to have her children’s names tattooed on her wrists.

“I thought, I want something to stand out because my children are my world,” said Tracey. “So I had my daughter’s name and my sons’ names done.”

Funny story: In March 2008, before she moved to South Carolina, Tracey had to have three discs in her neck fused (This would not be the funny part). She and her husband had planned a trip to SC to visit her parents, but because of the recent surgery, Tracey was prohibited from traveling. Her daughter, Alyssa, stayed in Maryland with her and her husband brought their boys down to visit with their grandparents.

“Of course I was on pain medicine,” said Tracey. “Alyssa had her cell phone and I had my cell phone. She sent me a text one night and it said ‘Good night. I love you.” And the next morning, she said mamma, are you ok? And I was like, yeah, why?”

“She said did you see the text message you sent me? And I said ‘no. What did I say?’”

“She showed me, and it said “luv vavt.” That was the text message I sent her. And I’m looking at my phone and I’m thinking I don’t know what that was. And that became just a little thing between me and Alyssa,” said Tracey. “And she’ll send me a message through the day and she’ll say “luv vavt.” And it’s our little thing mother-daughter.”

Recalling this story, Tracey went back to Moto at Amber Island (who had done the tattoos of her children’s names) and she had the words “luv vavt” added with her daughter’s name.

Although Shakespeare’s Juliet might not place a great deal of significance in a name [Juliet: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."] there are those of us who do – especially when it comes to our family and significant others – our children and loved ones.

Having a loved one’s name tattooed on the body is an outward expression of the bond and relationship shared between the parties. I imagine there is less likelihood that anyone would have a family member’s name covered up or removed – compared with the name of a romantic love interest – but I am still not convinced that having a lover’s name tattooed marks the beginning of the end of the romance.

True love, I believe, transcends words and has forever been a subject tackled by artists and writers alike. Again, I imagine this is another topic for another time. 

Jesse's Badge of Honor

I took a break from teaching the spring semester of my second year in graduate school so I could devote my time to preparing for the oral exam I would have to pass in order to earn my MA in English. Looking back, that was one of my favorite times in graduate school, and I often thought about how wonderful it would be to have a job that paid me to sit around and read all day. Ah, if only I ruled the world….

During those days, I would wake up each morning and put on a pot of coffee to accompany my cigarettes and reading for the morning. Because spring semester begins in January, most mornings were fairly cold and I didn’t smoke in the house I shared with my roommates.

Instead of putting on a bathrobe when I got out of bed in the morning, I would put on an old, cream colored woolen cardigan style sweater that had belonged to my Grandpa. My fiancé, at the time, nicknamed it my “literary sweater” because I would spend the majority of my day wrapped in the warmth of that sweater as I snuggled into the couch (or my bed) to read and study for what seemed like a grueling exam.

As a little girl, I always looked up to and idolized my Grandpa.  He could be salty and crotchety. Abrasive at times. But he equally loved and adored me; of this I am certain. Having been a college history professor, he always encouraged my education and was proud of my ambitions to pursue a graduate level degree.

I lost both of my grandparents while I was in graduate school. Wearing that wool sweater while I studied for my exams made me feel connected to my Grandpa. While it was a simple article of clothing, the fact that the sweater had belonged to him inspired me throughout the course of my studies. Wrapped in it, I felt supported and encouraged by my Grandpa.

When I met and interviewed Jesse about the Air Force patch that he had tattooed on his left chest in honor of his Grandpa, I instantly felt a connection to him and could understand why this tattoo was so profoundly meaningful and significant for him.

Having no brothers, and not growing up with a father in my life, I have only understood the close knit bond that exists between women in my family: Grandma, Mom, me and now my two daughters. The same kind of bond, however, definitely exists among our male counterparts as Grandfathers, Fathers and Sons.

In the brief time I was able to meet and talk with Jesse, it was astoundingly apparent that he shares an incredibly strong bond with his father; and if his grandfather were still alive, I can see the three generations together – thick as thieves.

Jesse was only about a three year old toddler when his Grandpa passed away. Death is difficult enough for adults to understand and grieve; I can’t imagine what it might be like for a little fella.

As I listened to Jesse, now a young 20-something adult himself, talk about his Grandpa, there was an amazing change in his countenance. His face brightened and beamed – words coming out of a smile with the magic quality of childhood excitement.

He recalled times spent, sitting in his Grandpa’s lap, eating popsicles and watching television. Wheelchair bound, Jesse’s grandfather was also on a supply of oxygen. With an impish little grin, Jesse remembered enjoying playing with the O2 line and pulling it out of his Grandpa’s nose.

Despite the fact that Jesse didn’t grow up with his Grandpa physically by his side, he certainly had heart-felt memories of love that he carried with him. It is evident in the way he speaks about this man who so deeply touched his life at such a poignant time in his development.

Jesse’s Grandpa served in the US Air Force and had quite a career in the military. I imagine, as I do quite often, that Jesse wishes he could ask his grandfather questions about his life and hear stories from another time and generation.

What Jesse does have, thanks to his Grandpa and Dad, are a variety of patches his Grandpa earned throughout his time of military service.

“We’ve got the old canes he used. Pictures of him with his air force group. Patches. All of his patches. Bunches of them,” said Jesse. “It is neat to have. We’ve got a whole big bowl of them – just sitting there. It is cool just to look through them. This is the one I’ve kept. Always had it with me.”

In addition his Grandpa’s medic alert chain alerting an allergy to penicillin, an allergy Jesse has in common with his Grandpa, he always kept this specific patch in his room. It is, Jesse believes, the first patch his Grandpa earned.

Jesse said that the idea to get a tattoo to honor his Grandpa was something he considered for a long while. I am hesitant to put words into anyone’s mouth, however, a tattoo of this nature and design is one, I would think, most people want to get “just right.”

And then one day it clicked like a Joycean epiphany: Jesse would get the exact likeness of his Grandpa’s first earned Air Force patch tattooed in his honor.

Jesse has grown considerably since he was three years old and last had the opportunity to sit on his Grandpa’s lap and share a Popsicle. I can certainly understand the desire to share your life with someone you love and admire.  

There is no doubt in my mind that his Grandpa would be proud of the young man Jesse has become and the man into whom he continues to grow and develop.

While his Grandpa might not be physically present in his life, the wonderful memories that Jesse has of him have a permanent residence in his heart and mind; and Jesse proudly displays a badge of honor for his Grandpa, eternally etched, across his chest.  

Checking In

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

I have been the living embodiment of this idea for the last seven months.

In December, my husband of seven years announced that he was unhappy and leaving. However, because of finical reasons, convenience and children, he didn’t physically leave until the beginning of April. Looking back, emotionally and soulfully, we parted ways long before December.

I have been ok with his leaving. Honestly. The greatest difficult has been watching my girls try to wrap their seven and eight year old heads around adult issues; extra responsibilities around the house (yard and pool maintenance); and getting all of my financial messes cleaned up and moving in the right direction.

As for the marriage, I hate to sound negative, but remained curled up in the bud state, unable to grow and blossom, was infinitely more difficult than the decision to go it alone – to blossom as Nicole. There is a an amazing feeling of freedom in being able to be myself without censorship or apology.

Where am I going with all of this? My Soul to Skin Project seemed to take off and converge in the midst of a million things going on in my life. School let out for the summer, and instead of camp this year, Em and Ella have been home with me full time. Time with them is fantastic, but it leaves little opportunity for me to sit and focus on my writing. In addition, I have a full-part time job with the newspaper that occupies a significant amount of my time. Prior to beginning this project, I also promised to help co-author another book with a very dear friend.

While this was never part of my plan, I confess I have fallen in love with the most amazing man I have ever met. Navigating these waters has been blissfully frightening.

My tendency has always been to take on many projects at the same time, and somehow I manage to accomplish everything I set out to do (because I am driven, ambitious, tenacious, and perfectionist) no matter how long it might take me to get it done.

Here is where I am going with this: I am asking for your patience. My passion for this project has in no way dwindled. My mind has simply been focused on many things simultaneously. Each and every person I have had the pleasure of speaking with, I assure you, will have his and her stories told. And I know there are more people out there with whom I cannot wait to connect.

Don’t lose faith in me or this project. Keep checking back. Contact me to schedule a time to talk and interview. Like me, this project is a work in progress. Because it is mine, I do not have any definitive deadlines. I am enjoying the process of meeting people, talking with them, transcribing our interviews, writing up their stories and sharing them with the world. If we haven’t yet met or spoken, I hope you will allow me the privilege of hearing and sharing your story or stories.

I have recently gotten over a few personal hurtles that will allow me more time for this project … the freedom to continue to grow and blossom. I invite you and hope you will remain on this journey with me.

Needing Reminders

Looking back on my thirty-five years of life, there is not one day I can recall when my Mom has neglected to tell me that she loves me. I’ve often wondered if this has spoiled me in my adult life and relationships. There are certain people in my life who I know, without a doubt, love me, but it is certainly nice to have that loved affirmed.

People with whom I’ve been in relationships have made me feel “needy” for wanting this, and I have allowed certain people to make me feel like I was weak or insecure simply because I enjoy being told I am loved or wanted, needed or desired. Wanting and craving affirmations doesn’t make me or anyone else weak – it makes me human. It makes me Nicole, and from this day forward I refuse to feel poorly about myself because hearing someone say he loves me or desires me is important to me!

There was a recent special about Demi Lovato (I know her only because Em and Ella watch Disney Channel. Not that there would be anything wrong with owning her CD ;) on MTV. On her inner wrists (palm side of the hand) from left to write, are tattoos reading “Stay Strong.”

The only difference between Lovato and Lance Armstrong’s “Live Strong” campaign is that her reminder is permanently etched into her skin as opposed to imprinted on a removable yellow rubber bracelet.

Thinking about writing this entry, I couldn’t help but replay the SNL “Daily Affirmations with Stuart Smalley” skit where the character, developed and played by Al Franken, ended each ‘episode’ with a look in the mirror and the mantra ‘I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. And doggone it: people like me!”

As I have the opportunity to meet and talk with more and more people, I have noted a common theme or trend: many people get tattoos as affirmations or reminders of one kind or another, which leads me to the conclusion that I am not the only person out there who needs to be reminded that I am loved, or that I am good enough, or to have faith, think positively, and be happy.

When I was a chubby kid struggling through gymnastics class because I didn’t possess the same level of athleticism as the other girls and because I carried a heftier weight on my frame, my coach took me aside one day and said there are always going to be people who are better at this than you, and there are going to be people who are worse. There are going to be people who are chubbier and people who are thinner; people who are faster and people who are slower. You simply need to be the best you you can be.

This is true when it comes to optimism and positive thinking. There are some people (for a varying degree of reasons including childhood experiences, chemical make-up of the brain, etc.) who have an easier time being happy than others. Some people struggle, while for others, genuine happiness is as natural as having brown eyes or long legs. People are different and that is what makes the world amazing.

Some of us need more reminding, more affirmation than others, and there is nothing wrong with this.

Tracey, one of the women I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing, has a tattoo on her right upper, inner arm that reads “Hold on to your happy.” For her, this serves as a reminder to stay bright and positive even when life might be throwing things at her that make happiness a struggle.

Tattooed on my left wrist are a flower and the word Believe. This serves as a reminder to hold on to my belief in God – to believe in myself – to believe in miracles and that anything is possible. Some days I need to be reminded of that more than others.

During the period of my life and career when I worked as a counselor at both a domestic violence shelter and later at a substance abuse facility, I always decorated my office space with inspirational (affirmation) quotes. Many of my clients needed constant reminding that they were going to make it, that they had the inner strength to endure their current circumstances, warm-fuzzies and the knowledge that someone was in their corner believing in them even when they found it difficult to believe in themselves.

Some of the framed favorites that decorated the walls of my various office spaces included:

• “The best way out is always through.”
• “Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it because a beautiful butterfly.”
• “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”
• “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
• "Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”
• "Faith makes things possible, not easy."

It would be difficult to carry these framed pieces of inspiration, motivation, affirmation, around with me everywhere we go (although my choice of purses are usually large enough to accommodate a kitchen sink).

Tattoos are the perfect way to take those reminders of hope or inspiration with us everywhere we go. And there is nothing wrong with needing reminders that we are unique, loved, strong, or filled with faith.

One of the things I am enjoying so much about this project – aside from seeing amazing art and meeting interesting people – is the fact that no matter how different each of us might be, we are all connected by our humanity. Our experiences might be different, but we can relate to one another on some many universal levels when it comes to love and self-acceptance.

Again, I am so thankful to those of you who have been so willing to share your stories with me. 

Zukeasha: Phoenix Rising

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” Helen Keller

I hadn’t planned on an interview last night because I have felt behind and guilty for not catching up sooner. [Oh the things I allow my brain to do to me sometimes.] Funny how, once again, I was humbled by the realization that people are put into my life at specific times because they show or tell me something that I need to hear. Of course, I would like to hope that the reverse is true – that perhaps I offer others something that they need at the time.

Truth be told, I had gone up to Amber Island to see Moto if only for a brief moment and an amazing hug.

In so doing, I had the great fortune of meeting Zukeasha, hearing her story and documenting the mythical phoenix as it rises from the flames into the beautiful serenity of a lotus. Before I dive completely into Keasha’s story, nerd that I am, I feel compelled to offer a brief note on the phoenix.

The phoenix is a sacred firebird documented in the mythologies of the Arabian, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Chinese, Indians and Phoenicians. Described as a bird with a colorful plumage and a tail of gold and scarlet (or purple, blue, and green according to some legends), the phoenix has a 500 to 1000 year life-cycle, near the end of which it builds itself a nest of twigs that then ignites; both nest and bird burn fiercely and are reduced to ashes, from which a new, young phoenix or phoenix egg arises, reborn anew to live again. The new phoenix is destined to live as long as its old self. Some stories suggest that the new phoenix embalms the ashes of its old self in an egg made of myrrh and deposits it in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis (literally "sun-city" in Greek). The phoenix is said to utter a cry that is a beautiful song, and the tears of the phoenix are also believed to have healing properties.

Lotus Flowers grow in the deep mud, far away from the sun; however, the Lotus eventually reaches the light becoming the most beautiful flower ever. Regarded in many cultures and eastern religious as a symbol of purity, enlightenment, self-regeneration and rebirth, the characteristics of the Lotus create a perfect analogy for the human condition: even when its roots are in the dirtiest waters, the Lotus produces the most beautiful flower.

When she was a little girl, Keasha dreamed of becoming a doctor; as an adult, she found herself working for a corporation, like so many others, the soul of which is driven by financial gain. Instead of having the opportunity to develop close relationships with patients needing a gentle touch or warm reassurance, she found herself in a sterile cubicle – the antithesis of her childhood dream.

Like everyone else in America these last few years, Keasha felt the overwhelming burden of our troubled economy. With a daughter to support, leaving her corporate job was not an option despite the fact that she was miserable being there. Like so many of us have felt at moments in our lives, she was stuck: The weight of responsibility often outweighs the desires of personal ambition.

Faith and Divinity conspired, and one afternoon Keasha found herself in a meeting with one of the corporate human resources personnel. In the lingo of the corporate machine, she was being “let go.” Instead of being plagued with anxiety about how she would manage financially, how she would provide for her family, she allowed that door in her life to close with a rush a relief so clear that the individual letting her go was startled by Keasha’s calm demeanor.

On the path to becoming a respiratory therapist, Keasha is living her adult version of that childhood dream. Listening to her talk about school and the direction she is headed, I couldn’t help but feed on her excitement and energy. She said she feels like she is doing something meaningful with her life because instead of having a career that focuses on earning more money for other people, she will be doing something to help people in need.

Think about this – breath – breathing is the very foundation of life. When we stop breathing, we die. As a respiratory therapist, Keasha is moved by the thought of helping people breathe and improving the quality of their lives.   

The tattoo of the phoenix, rising from flame into the serenity of the lotus, symbolizes this dramatically positive change in Keasha’s life. She told me that with everything going on, she came to the profound realization that she might not be able to change or assert control over certain circumstances, but she can make changes in herself and her response to whatever circumstance in which she happens to find herself. One paramount key to this realization for Keasha has been self-acceptance and learning to love and embrace the essence of who she is and all she will continue to become.

On a personal note, what inspired me most about Keasha is the role model she is for her daughter. The three of us – Moto, Keasha and myself – went off on a tangent about children’s television programming. During our conversation, she and I agreed that we liked Dora the Explorer much better than the Disney Princesses because Dora is independent. She has a map, a back-pack and a monkey and, unlike the princesses who tend to rely on men for their rescue, Dora takes the old proverbial bull-by-the-horns and figures it out herself. We agreed that we much preferred Dora as a role model for our daughters for these very reasons.

I couldn’t help but think about what an amazing example Keasha is for her daughter. While she was in a job that she despised, she did not quit or walk away because she had responsibilities and commitments to fulfill and uphold. And when the divinity of the universe conspired in her favor and closed that corporate door, she confidently and gracefully walked through a new door, negotiating all the twists and turns leading her to the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. What an incredible gift to give to a child – especially one shared between mother and daughter.

Because of the choices she has made (not the “do as I say, but not as I do” hypocrisy), Keasha is a shining, living example for her daughter to never give up on her dreams, to work diligently, to be responsible, to be committed, to never give up, and that when one holds tightly to faith and hope, nothing is impossible.

Whitney's Sunflowers

When I walked into Moto’s room at the tattoo shop to meet Whitney, I was overcome by a sensation of utter peacefulness.

With the exception of her left arm and shoulder, where Moto was working on a beautiful tangle of earthy sunflowers with interwoven strips of film, Whitney was wrapped up in a zebra print Snuggy, head back, eyes closed, relaxing into each deep and purposeful breath.

She looked so comfy and cozy, in such a state of meditative bliss that I hated to interview her. I didn’t want to disrupt her peace and focus with a barrage of questions that would require her to think and talk and interact instead of finding comfort in that very moment while being tattooed.

I certainly plan on doing my own research throughout this process because I am curious and inquisitive; I love research and learning; and, I am proud to say, I am just a geek like that. I imagine there are all sorts of psychological research studies that deal with the physiology of tattoos and how tattoos affect the pain and pleasure centers in the brain, but this will be another blog. Note to self.

Whitney’s serenity immediately made her interesting – as did the sunflowers searching for sunlight along her upper arm and shoulder area. It is only natural that the first question I ask relates to the sunflowers and their significance to her; it goes without saying that she could have chosen from any wide variety of flowers that decorate our planet, but Whitney wanted sunflowers. A woman after my own heart.

“I knew I wanted sunflowers because they are my favorite flowers. They have so much inspiration. They are happy and I always loved how they follow the sun,” she said. “And I liked the fact that the gold wasn’t too different from my skin color.”

As we continued to talk, Whitney made a statement I have thought many times myself: “Sometimes it’s easy to forget to be happy.”

I’m not sure that this is true for everyone. There are some people who seem to be happy the majority of the time.

Optimists who always see a half-full glass and approach the world with an unyielding positivity. I have always envied people like this, because I have spent so much of my life looking at the worst case scenario. Since college (and really before then if I think about it), I have battled depression and anxiety issues that make it challenging for me to be the bubbling fountain of positivity I wanted to be. Being optimistic is something I have had to practice. Something I still practice. There are days when I struggle, but I have made so much progress.

I’ve heard Moto say several times now – the longer you don’t quit, the better you get. This is true with anything in life. Training the mind to perceive situations in a more positive manner is no different.

Whitney is an artist. She works in a salon and creates hair styles. Any profession that finds you sitting behind or across from someone in your chair immediately thrusts you into the role of counselor and confidant. Every time I get my hair cut and colored, I walk away feeling like I have also had a therapy session.

Remembering to be happy can be difficult, Whitney confided, especially if and when she has clients who are going through things or personal issues. This statement speaks volumes about how much she cares about people and what they might be coping with at any given moment. She is sensitive and compassionate, which, I think to myself (like me), makes her somewhat vulnerable. The unique ability to both sympathize and empathize are amazing character attributes; they also open the human heart wide, and can make one subject to feeling another’s pain or sadness.

Sunflowers, bright, strong and confident are open wide to the light and warmth of the sunshine, much like Whitney opens her mind and heart allowing other people to share their stories. Having them tattooed on her shoulder is a consistent reminder, she says, “of a little something you can look at to make you smile.”

Whitney told me that throughout her own personal journey, she has learned to talk more.

“Growing up I didn’t share myself with people. I didn’t know how to express emotions. And I still struggle as an adult, but I can express myself now. I’m in the best relationship I’ve ever had. And it works – not only because he’s great and perfect for me, but he’s that person that I know I can talk to. The good, the bad, whatever – he’s there – and I can just lay it all out. And being able to do that is the only way it helps.”

Like the sunflowers on her shoulder, I cannot help but make the analogy that Whitney continues to blossom and open in her own life.

In her state of serenity, I hated the idea of bombarding Whitney with questions. Naturally, I wondered why she didn’t share herself or her emotions much growing up. Why it was a struggle. My hope is to recommend with her to ask these questions, as I am doing my diligence to not analyze people (though the counselor in me makes that difficult).

The juxtaposition of the filmstrip – something man-made thus a drastic difference compared to the natural growth and development of sunflowers – literally captures talent, creativity, moments of raw and genuine emotion in each frame – compelled me to ask the questions what and why?

“The film strip. That we’ll do later. The base is already there. It’s because I love movies. It’s always something I wanted,” Whitney said. “Growing up, we didn’t really watch cable. We watched movies all the time. And that was always special. So I thought to incorporate that, but also make it more personal if I put things that kind of describe the person I am in the film strip slots.”

I would be remiss not to ask Whitney what her plans for the filmstrip slots were. “I have a lot of ideas. Definitely something to do with music. I have a huge passion to hear it, play it, watch it, everything. Something to do with hair. And then I have several other ideas – maybe a cross or something to represent my upbringing. Who knows? I don’t want to make any hasty decisions.”

Whitney’s tattoo is a beautiful work in progress. My hope, of course, is that she will allow me to follow her on her journey as she and Moto develop pieces for the filmstrip and continue to work on the piece as a whole.

I typically have a difficult time leaving “things” incomplete. As I continue through this journey, I am reminded that, like everything else in my life, this project, this blog, my dream of creating a complete and publishable book are works in progress. Our personal journeys and stories, I suspect, are never fully complete. As we grow and evolve, so do all of the moments of meaning in our lives.

This is only the beginning of Whitney’s story. Of this, I am positive. Again, my hope is that she will continue to share her story with me as it develops.