Calm Enough to Be the Clown
When I was seventeen, I got my first tattoo. I was impatient to skip ahead, to brand myself with permanence before I even knew what I wanted permanent.
It was a Tony Hoagland line, looping across skin still soft with youth: “and I am calm enough to be grateful for the lives I never have to live again.”
At seventeen I didn’t understand it, not really. I …
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