Friday, September 21, 2012
The Wisdom of Shaun
I met a prophet this year whose words gave me insight into myself and the nature of life. Okay, "prophet" may not be the right title because he didn't actually impart words from God.
Wise man? Guru? He shall be called Shaun.
Shaun is a tattoo artist. He imparts wisdom, art, and I'm pretty sure that he would hook me up with some pot if I so desired.
Like many people in their 30's who are facing the tattoo choices of their 20's, I came to the conclusion that it is time to fix my tattoo. FIX, not remove. Removal is ridiculous. Only pretentious snots who are trying to keep people from knowing that they were ever 20 years old get their tattoos removed.
The only acceptable reasons for tattoo removal are the following:
1) you were drunk and now have a cartoon or misspelled word on your body
2) you are no long married to or with the person whose name you lovingly had placed on your ass
3) you got a tattoo on your forehead and want to re-enter normal society
None of those apply to me and I am not a pretentious snot, so the responsible thing to do was to get my cheap, faded tramp stamp made larger and more awesome. I decided to fix/add to the little blue flower about 10 years ago. It took me until now to do it because I REMEMBER the horrible pain and misery that made 20 minutes feel like 3 days.
Enter Shaun, my guru.
I give Shaun a general idea of what I want. He draws a perfectly wonderful tramp stamp around my existing one. Approved.
I say to Shaun: okay, I am going to cry a lot. I am sorry if I cuss. When I did this the first time around, it was horrible.
Shaun: How long ago was that?
Me: 11 years ago.
Shaun: I bet it won't be as bad this time. You have probably experienced a lot of real pain in your life in the last 11 years. It tends to toughen people up. You may be surprised.
Me: (didn't actually say anything but gave him a look that made clear I was not buying his bullshit)
Shaun: Have you had any kids?
Me: No
Shaun: Surgery? Serious illness?
Me: Nope. I haven't even had wisdom teeth removed.
Shaun: Well, you will still be surprised how much more pain you can bear now.
And damn it. He was right. The man tattooed flowers and vines above my ass for 45 minutes. It hurt, but it was not miserable. I found myself entertained by the difference of feeling when the needle moved across the skin (just a warm, barely there pain) and then hit a nerve (the shooting pain that seemed to burn my teeth).
45 minutes later, I was shaking but happy. I did not cry. How the hell? I honestly don't think that anything biologically changed in me (regarding pain, at least) over 11 years. Age and time taught me how to hurt.
Shaun, a man of wisdom. His words came back to me today while driving.
I may not know what to do with my life. I am going crazy with uncertainty and being judged by an entire county. I have had trust broken and my pride crushed in the last few months. I'm beyond broke and doubting every decision I made leading up to this point.
But I'll be okay. I know how to hurt.
I also have a pretty bad-ass tramp stamp to make me feel better when I back that thing up in the mirror.
Wise man? Guru? He shall be called Shaun.
Shaun is a tattoo artist. He imparts wisdom, art, and I'm pretty sure that he would hook me up with some pot if I so desired.
Like many people in their 30's who are facing the tattoo choices of their 20's, I came to the conclusion that it is time to fix my tattoo. FIX, not remove. Removal is ridiculous. Only pretentious snots who are trying to keep people from knowing that they were ever 20 years old get their tattoos removed.
The only acceptable reasons for tattoo removal are the following:
1) you were drunk and now have a cartoon or misspelled word on your body
2) you are no long married to or with the person whose name you lovingly had placed on your ass
3) you got a tattoo on your forehead and want to re-enter normal society
None of those apply to me and I am not a pretentious snot, so the responsible thing to do was to get my cheap, faded tramp stamp made larger and more awesome. I decided to fix/add to the little blue flower about 10 years ago. It took me until now to do it because I REMEMBER the horrible pain and misery that made 20 minutes feel like 3 days.
Enter Shaun, my guru.
I give Shaun a general idea of what I want. He draws a perfectly wonderful tramp stamp around my existing one. Approved.
I say to Shaun: okay, I am going to cry a lot. I am sorry if I cuss. When I did this the first time around, it was horrible.
Shaun: How long ago was that?
Me: 11 years ago.
Shaun: I bet it won't be as bad this time. You have probably experienced a lot of real pain in your life in the last 11 years. It tends to toughen people up. You may be surprised.
Me: (didn't actually say anything but gave him a look that made clear I was not buying his bullshit)
Shaun: Have you had any kids?
Me: No
Shaun: Surgery? Serious illness?
Me: Nope. I haven't even had wisdom teeth removed.
Shaun: Well, you will still be surprised how much more pain you can bear now.
And damn it. He was right. The man tattooed flowers and vines above my ass for 45 minutes. It hurt, but it was not miserable. I found myself entertained by the difference of feeling when the needle moved across the skin (just a warm, barely there pain) and then hit a nerve (the shooting pain that seemed to burn my teeth).
45 minutes later, I was shaking but happy. I did not cry. How the hell? I honestly don't think that anything biologically changed in me (regarding pain, at least) over 11 years. Age and time taught me how to hurt.
Shaun, a man of wisdom. His words came back to me today while driving.
I may not know what to do with my life. I am going crazy with uncertainty and being judged by an entire county. I have had trust broken and my pride crushed in the last few months. I'm beyond broke and doubting every decision I made leading up to this point.
But I'll be okay. I know how to hurt.
I also have a pretty bad-ass tramp stamp to make me feel better when I back that thing up in the mirror.
Monday, September 10, 2012
The No Good, Very Bad Day
I was due for a bad day. I had a wonderful week last week. I finished a personal art project, discovered the wonders of taking bubble baths in the guest bathroom, and went to an AMAZING concert. What ended a fun week such as that? Fall arrived! Our high today was 80 degrees. I sat on a porch with friends last night singing, drinking, and actually getting chilled in the night air.
I should have known. Today is Monday. Where there is an up swing, there must also be a down swing.
Grant it, no one is dying or gravely ill. I haven't lost my job or home. I even opened a package of jeans in the mail that fit me perfectly.
I was stupid, though, and went into work. More stupidly, I sat down in my boss's office and talked about the state of the church. All that I have lost in the last 6 months hit once again.
Tonight, the deacons are meeting to talk about a time of transition. The pastor is retiring and there are a lot of steps to take and committees to form. Naturally, the only other full time minister should be part of the transition process. Someone needs to be a communication hub, right? Wrong. Not as long as that full-time minister is me:
-I am not welcomed at the deacons meeting.
-I am no longer invited to lead any adult bible study or event.
-Without discussion, I am no longer being offered the new title of "Associate Pastor" despite it being a unanimous vote last spring.
-People are now spreading the rumor that I am a lesbian (although this one to me is just funny).
-In the pastor's words: "They will be okay with you doing what you've been doing (youth and college-out of sight, out of mind), but they won't want your spiritual leadership in any of this."
-My preaching opportunities have been cut in half this year.
-The pastor is now pushing for our church to be moderate and he is supporting the notion that the next pastor and the person who replaces me when I leave will be much more conservative than us.
-When I brought up ideas for worship given to me by liberal friends, I was immediately shot down. The pastor made a face of disdain for their "presumptive attitudes."
-I realized that, although there has been no vote, my lesbian friends will never be offered a position of leadership in the church. They are associate members by default although the church does not have associate membership.
-I can't talk to the pastor about anything past, present, or future that upsets me. His good opinion of me is rocky at best and I depend on his recommendation for any future jobs.
I am being fired in the tradition of moderate baptists: They will not ask you to go, but will keep you from doing any effective ministry. They will shut me out until I leave on my own.
After a perfectly lovely weekend, I now feel defeated. And foolish. The feeling will pass, but today is a horrible, no good, very bad day.
I should have known. Today is Monday. Where there is an up swing, there must also be a down swing.
Grant it, no one is dying or gravely ill. I haven't lost my job or home. I even opened a package of jeans in the mail that fit me perfectly.
I was stupid, though, and went into work. More stupidly, I sat down in my boss's office and talked about the state of the church. All that I have lost in the last 6 months hit once again.
Tonight, the deacons are meeting to talk about a time of transition. The pastor is retiring and there are a lot of steps to take and committees to form. Naturally, the only other full time minister should be part of the transition process. Someone needs to be a communication hub, right? Wrong. Not as long as that full-time minister is me:
-I am not welcomed at the deacons meeting.
-I am no longer invited to lead any adult bible study or event.
-Without discussion, I am no longer being offered the new title of "Associate Pastor" despite it being a unanimous vote last spring.
-People are now spreading the rumor that I am a lesbian (although this one to me is just funny).
-In the pastor's words: "They will be okay with you doing what you've been doing (youth and college-out of sight, out of mind), but they won't want your spiritual leadership in any of this."
-My preaching opportunities have been cut in half this year.
-The pastor is now pushing for our church to be moderate and he is supporting the notion that the next pastor and the person who replaces me when I leave will be much more conservative than us.
-When I brought up ideas for worship given to me by liberal friends, I was immediately shot down. The pastor made a face of disdain for their "presumptive attitudes."
-I realized that, although there has been no vote, my lesbian friends will never be offered a position of leadership in the church. They are associate members by default although the church does not have associate membership.
-I can't talk to the pastor about anything past, present, or future that upsets me. His good opinion of me is rocky at best and I depend on his recommendation for any future jobs.
After a perfectly lovely weekend, I now feel defeated. And foolish. The feeling will pass, but today is a horrible, no good, very bad day.
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