The Lady with the Rose Tattoo

I recently attended a gala at the San Jose Museum of Art and wandered the building's rooms, spacious and stark, with my gold champagne in hand (until asked to please refrain from taking refreshments into the galleries -- should have known), absorbing black and white self-portraits from the current exhibit, "This is Not a Selfie." Sometimes I looked into the photos, sometimes beyond them at the white walls nearly glowing in what seemed to be florescent light. I felt at once voyeur and student before the images. I was learning, watching, reflecting.

The images in the photos ranged in size. Some subjects were practically absent from the frames, their bodies out of focus and faces barely visible. Others posed boldly or demurely, allowing the camera to capture their physical being in its entirety, surrounded by light or objects or loved ones. Each representation differed from the others in more than size or focus. They were unique and strong and provocative and, sometimes, sad.

When I arrived home after the evening, champagne consumed and dancing in the courtyard completed, I began to think about my own self-portrait. And I asked my kids what they would include if assigned the composition in art class or lit class or bio. They didn't have answers but were willing to listen to mine. I gave them the short version: me, my rose tattoo, and my backpack.

The long answer begins with this: 10 years ago during a therapy session, my therapist, Susie, asked what I needed, which I now view as a pretty straightforward question. But at the time, I couldn't grasp the words' meaning, didn't believe this was simple at all. So without flinching, I responded, "I don't understand the question." Susie repeated it, maybe expounded -- I don't remember because I truly didn't comprehend what she was asking. Sitting in the office listening to the sounds of the copper wall fountain, I didn't know that people could have needs. I didn't think people desired to do anything beyond serve God and family and community. And I sure as hell didn't think I was allowed to need anything.

The next day I began reading a psychology book recommended by a girlfriend and learned that people actually ARE desires and needs -- that's what forms us. A week later, I took a solo road trip across America's heartland to figure. my. shit. out.

Today I'm still figuring it out. But I’m closer to the answer and I understand that to be human is to need. We need support, we need love, we need adventure. Or at least I do, which leads me back to the self-portrait short answer. In my self-portrait, I would include me, my backpack, and my rose tattoo. Me because my body is strong and imperfect and I’m grateful for it; my backpack because I crave adventure and discovery; and the rose tattoo because it symbolizes the baby I buried and the three I’m raising. I need all of these things.  

Me and my backpack ready to go!

Rose close to my heart (and hip)