How I’m learning to embrace the impermanence of stuff from my very permanent tattoo

My Christmas present to myself last year — yep, totally a thing — was to have the phases of the moon etched across my upper back.

According to trusted sources, like Pinterest and a hurried Google Search, space tattoos are really in right now. So I get zero points for originality. But to a lot of people, the imagery is still unusual enough to ask questions if they happen to catch a glimpse of it. And the main one is, “but what does it MEAN?”

My answer to that — kinda invasive — question depends on my mood. Sometimes it’s “space is cool” or “the moon is my favourite”. But if I can be arsed, I’ll say one of the real meanings, which is:

It reminds me of the cyclical nature of life. It teaches me to embrace impermanence, because impermanence is the only thing that’s really permanent, if you think about it.

Ooo deep, right? Or just really cliché. Or just really ironic that my permanent tattoo is about impermanence. Take your pick.

But the thing is, I’m not really quoting Buddha and referring to the impermanence of life generally. This isn’t really about the changing seasons, or fading relationships or facing up to the idea of death — but they’re all totally things I’d meditate on if I had the time, energy and bandwidth.

The impermanence I need to be reminded of regularly is the impermanence of my thoughts and the moods they conjure up. Which, admittedly, doesn’t sound half as a grand as the impermanence of the fabric of our universe, but is actually way more helpful day-to-day.

I could probably write a list as long as my arm that attempts to trace the reasons why I sometimes find myself totally trapped by my low moods — ranging from the biological to the Freudian to the esoteric.

But most times — without fail — I overlook the big one. The one that makes me feel trapped. The one that makes me feel sad. The one that’s debilitating.

I believe it’ll last forever.

When really, it won’t.

It sounds simple, but I forget. Or I don’t trust myself it could ever be true. I forget that no matter how empty and depressed I feel in this moment, at some point in the future I’ll also feel respite.

And I don’t mean “turning that frown upside down!” or “thinking happy thoughts and becoming a happy person!” I’m too worn-down or too northern or too cynical for that kind of BS nowadays.

It’s not about expecting unbridled joy. Or an overflow of happiness. Or an injection of enthusiasm for fucking flowers, or something like that. But just holding onto some ounce of faith that it will feel different. Even for just one day. Even if it’s just a little bit.

And the different is important. Because I’m not holding out for constant bliss anymore — it’d be boring, right? Screw that shit. To me, different is a state where I maybe still feel utterly worthless, but at least I can write in it. At least I can push through to somewhere else to create. A state where I can use the thoughts, the feelings and the low mood and turn them into something else.

But, here’s where it gets interesting — or more weird and complex, take your pick— the converse is also true. I often experience very extreme mood swings. So one day I can feel like a completely different person to the next. This means I’ll sometimes wake up and think, “I’m happy!”, “I’m good!”, “I’ll never feel sad again!”, “I can take on THE FUCKING WORLD RN.” And it doesn’t take a behavioural psychologist to guess what kind of state that leaves me in a mere 24 hours later.

As well as coming to terms with the fact my low moods will feel different, I’m learning to come to terms with the fact the highs will too. Because burning myself out, ditching my therapist on an endorphin-fuelled whim and doing ALL OF THE THINGS in a state of high energy isn’t helping my cause either.

So next time someone asks me about my tattoo maybe I’ll say:

When I feel like there’s no point going on, I want to remind myself that soon, at some point, maybe this afternoon, maybe next week, I’ll feel different — just a little bit. And that shift will enable me to create something from my nothing. Even if it’s just a rambling Medium post that’ll give me a vulnerability hangover for a day or two. Oh and also, it reminds me not to be too cocky when I’m feeling good. Because that shit doesn’t last either.

But until I grow the balls to drop that vulnerability conversation bomb, I guess I’ll just say the moon is beautiful, I like space stuff, or it’s a celebration of waves or periods or something.

I didn’t reference anything in this piece, but throughout I was thinking about:

This post on The Painful Beauty of Impermanence over on Zen Habits

This post, which is arguably one of the best things on the internet ever, Depression Part Two over on Hyperbole and a Half.