Temporary Insanity

My mom has brown eyes, the kind of brown that looks like melted chocolate. When I was a kid, I wished that my eyes were brown like my mom's, and I'd imagine all the ways my life would be better with brown eyes. Can't remember any of them now, but I do remember thinking, "I wish my eyes were brown like my mom's." But alas, they're not brown. They're blue. Like my dad's, sort of, only not as clear. Blue-ish, really. I realize that I could change this fact with colored contact lenses, but the expense combined with the awkwardness of actually putting my finger in my eye seem like pretty significant barriers. I'll stick with blue-ish. For now.

It is what it is. I know, as a saying that has taken on a life of its own, and become quite cliche. But if I claim that I used it before it was in vogue, will anybody believe me? 'Cause I did. I've been telling my kids for years, whenever they have expressed a desire to escape reality, "It is what it is, kids. Best get used to it, then move on." I don't see the point in wallowing in wishes. Because, as we all know, wishing something was different doesn't make it so, but instead results in discontent with things as they are. And discontent breeds ingratitude, which leads to unhappiness, and before you know it, we're all just sitting around bingeing on chocolate and whining.

The other day, my son asked me what led to my current position with regards to religion. My skepticism, agnosticism, ignosticism (not sure what this is? Wikipedia, my friend!), whatever you want to call it. For the first time, he wanted to know why I don't believe the church is true. I tried to explain it, and found myself struggling to get the words right. His teenage mind can't seem to come to terms with why I can't see church, and God, the way he does. The way I taught him to, when he was a child. And my explanation of my journey didn't give him any comfort. I looked at him with tears in my eyes, and said, "I wish I could believe it, son. I really do. It would make things so much easier."  He looked back at me uncomprehendingly, and said, "Then why can't you? If you want to, why can't you?" Sigh. Because, it is what it is. I have blue eyes, not brown. I like chocolate, not tomatoes. And I just can't believe that religion is anything but a man-made construct, intended to give purpose and comfort to human beings struggling to make sense of this thing called life. It is what it is.

I have a daughter who is gay. She came out to us this year, and revealed that she had been struggling for several years with her sexual orientation. It has been a difficult journey for her, and for us as her parents, as we've watched her try to figure out how to fit into a very heterosexual world. She looked at me one day, tears rolling down her cheeks, and said, "Mom, why can't I like boys? This is too hard. I don't want to do this anymore." My response to her? You guessed it. "It is what it is. I don't believe in God, you like girls. Life would be easier for both of us if we could conform to cultural expectations, but that's not who we are." It is what it is.

That daughter had her 23rd birthday this past summer, and to celebrate, she asked me to get a tattoo with her. Obviously, I'm not against tattoos. But I wasn't sure I was ready to add another to my collection. However, it was what she wanted. And her chosen tattoo was the saying, "It is what it is." I guess it has sunk in after all these years, huh? So, off we went to get inked. She chose her ankle; I chose, well, something else. I've always joked that I was going to tattoo "It is what it is" on my ass. I got as close to it as I could without adding insult to injury. To myself, that is. I'm sure the artist has seen his share of derriere in his life.

I went to the appointment with script in hand, and an idea in mind of how I wanted it to look. The tattoo artist spent some time redrawing my concept, and came up with a reasonable facsimile. It looked okay on paper, so I gave the go ahead. I can honestly say that what came next rivaled birth in terms of pain. I was tempted to call uncle after the first word, but I thought it might look weird having "It" stamped on my backside. This was my fourth tattoo, so I knew it would hurt, but this one inspired the utterance of previously un-uttered swears. It hurt like nothing I'd here-to-for experienced. I gritted my teeth throughout, telling myself that it would all be worth it in the end (literally), because I'd have my favorite saying stamped on my backside for the remainder of my earthly existence.

Finally, he was done. He got a mirror and showed me the finished product. At first, I thought it looked weird because it was backwards in the mirror. So my daughter took a picture with her phone and handed it to me. And then I thought it looked weird because of the swelling and blood. (Yes, tattoos bleed. Don't do it.) Then, I realized it looked weird because it was weird. The finished product looked nothing like what I'd envisioned in my mind. I'm not a fancy-pants kind of gal, and I'd wanted to keep the script simple. It wasn't simple. It had curlicues, and flourishes, and extra lines and curves throughout. And it was permanent.

I'd tattooed "It is what it is" on my ass! And it was permanent! And it looked awful. I hated it. I really and truly hated it. I was embarrassed to show it to anyone, even my husband. How was I going to go through the rest of my mortal life with this monstrosity on the back of my front?!? Sigh. It is what it is.

There is no more fitting illustration of the concept "It is what it is" than a tattoo gone horribly wrong. It is what it is, indeed. It could be removed, of course, but not without a great deal of pain (been there, done that, not going back), and an insanely large chunk of change. Might as well get used to it, accept it, and move on. The stages of grief flashed past rather quickly, and I arrived at acceptance with an ease I hadn't thought possible a few moments earlier.

I have blue eyes. I hate tomatoes. I don't believe in God. My daughter is gay. And I have an ugly tattoo. It is what it is, y'all. And I wouldn't change a thing.