Pre-ink (stencil) vs 3 years later. The tattoo that nearly hospitalized and could’ve killed me.
“YOLO”
Well, at the time I was two weeks and roughly 3000 miles away from home on a 15kmi road trip and landed up in New Orleans, in a hotel a block away from Bourbon Street.
I heard Bourbon Street was insane. And found it to be true. Within minutes of stepping onto that street, I had secured cigarettes, weed, and alcohol. And once I had a drink in my hand, was offered nearly every drug you could think of before I reached the end of the street. I just wanted to unwind with a joint and a “hand grenade” cocktail…these folks were doing hardcore shit. It was quickly overwhelming and I was dead tired from driving from Austin, TX so I called it a night.
The next morning I got up, found beighnets and chicory coffee. Following that dose of sugar and caffeine, I bought more cigarettes and went for a photowalk. It wasn’t more than 15 minutes later that I was sitting in a walk in tattoo shop designing the tattoo on my right hand. I had wanted the YOLO acronym on my body for a long time. Today was the day.
An hour later, YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE was PERMANENTLY inked into my right hand. They covered it in plastic wrap bandage to protect it. But within a few hours it was falling off because I was profusely sweating in the Cajun heat. I tried my best to keep it clean but you quickly discover your hands brush against and touch everything.
That night I hit Bourbon Street with my cameras and fresh tattoo. Only had one drink. Spent two hours out taking pictures and 360 video. Went back to the hotel and cleaned the tattoo again.
Fast forward…two weeks. I started noticing (after my Key West adventure) in Georgia that it was getting red and swollen. I went to urgent care. It was infected. Big time. They gave me two weeks of antibiotics. A week later in New Jersey, I was back in urgent care with worsening symptoms. More antibiotics and was told you got a week to show improvement or you need to be hospitalized with IV antibiotics. I was at high risk of sepsis, like the deadly stuff.
A week later it was doing much better. I finished the antibiotics and the infection went away. Eventually it all healed up but the infection destroyed some of the ink in parts of it. I could get it touched up, but it’s a nod to the reminder that you really only do live once.
Fast forward three years to today. The tattoo and the words are a thing that I live by. The number of heartbeats you have left is unknown and finite. The number of years you exist on this planet is unknown and finite. You don’t get to do it all over again. You get one shot here in this existence. Do that thing you are afraid of. Escape your comfort zone. Live like there is no tomorrow, its not guaranteed.
My tattoo helps me make decisions. It nudges me to think about my finite time alive.
How so?
Each day I am given 24 hours. I get to choose what I use them for. I consciously ask myself if what I am spending my time on is in the benefit of myself or others–or if it’s a waste of my finite time alive. Time alive, doing what brings me joy and happiness, is more valuable than anything else for me.
YOLO