Feb. 18, 1998

Women in their thirties feel their biological clocks ticking. Women in their forties feel the damn alarm ringing. This phenomenon does not really translate into a "midlife crisis," since the actions prompted by the incessant alarm tend to be self-gratifying and fulfilling. I tend to view this time in my life as a celebration, a time to do, say, and have all the things I've wanted but were either too poor, too timid, or too busy to do, say, or get.

Obviously my cool car, my travels, and my computer all count as self-gratifying and self-fulfilling. At times they may even appear selfish, but that's the beauty of being older: I am actually expected to devote more time to satisfying the "inner me." Certainly my lifestyle changes have improved my mental and physical health immensely, something my family and friends appreciate as well.

Yet that alarm keeps ringing. As I turned 48 in January, I tried to think if there were any dreams or aspirations I still had which needed my attention. I thought about all the travels I still intended to take, but these I've dwelled on before. I approached it from another angle. What did I want to do, have, or be before the age of 50?

Ideas flooded my mind. Most required time and money, commodities still on short supply, but there was one thing that I had always dreamed of doing, and now seemed the perfect time to do it. Of course, when I announced at my birthday dinner that I intended to get a tattoo, not everyone seemed as excited as I was. But I knew what I wanted and where, and I also knew why, a most important point. I wanted a rose tattoo on the outside of my right ankle, right above the bone. It would be a single red bloom with black stem and leaves.

Last week on a perfectly gorgeous sunny warm day I went to Fremont, walked into Custom Tattoos, and sat for half an hour as a young woman carefully etched the flower onto my ankle. It felt like a razor or broken glass scraping across my skin: not a particularly pleasant sensation (I'm not into masochism) but certainly bearable.

My students REALLY got excited when they saw the tattoo. They all asked the same two questions: "Is it real" and "Did it hurt?" My son called me a rebel. He wanted to know when I was going to get a Harley (little did he know that I dreamed of owning a motorcycle before I had kids and didn't yet worry about killing myself).

I am incredibly pleased with the results. I love my tattoo and think it rather classy. The rose is visible if I want it seen, but it is underwraps simply by wearing socks or opaque hose. The choice is mine, and I like it like that.