A watercolor rendering of Earth is on the right side of my upper torso, along my ribcage. It was inked in March 2024.
The World At My Feet
From 20 to 50: Reclaiming Resilience At Mid-Life
The summer I turned twenty, I was young, healthy, and alive with the thrill of possibility. I was
working in New York City, brimming with confidence and certain of the bright future ahead of me. Life pulsed with promise, so I set out to find a tattoo studio to etch the image of the earth onto my foot: the world at my feet. It felt like the perfect phrase: bold, optimistic, and the ideal way to commemorate my summer-long adventure in the city that never sleeps. But it didn’t happen.
I walked around Manhattan for two hours before learning that city officials had banned tattoo studios in the Big Apple a decade before I was born. Disappointed, but not discouraged, I soon returned to my midwestern college town and nine months later, tried again – this time making an appointment. Inking the world just a few days before graduation felt even more meaningful than before, but once again, it wasn’t meant to be. The shop’s “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign also felt like a sign to me.
I let it go, certain my world tattoo would happen someday – whenever and wherever it was
supposed to. I didn’t know how much my life would change before then. Life moved forward, and in the following years, I began my career, got married, and welcomed three wonderful children. I poured myself into my roles as wife and mother, and with many dear friends and family nearby, I couldn’t have asked for more, which is why, at forty, moving twelve hours away from the life I’d loved to a town where I knew no one proved challenging. I was committed to re-rooting my family as painlessly as possible, and slowly, we began to settle in. Right around this time, three years after moving, I made a discovery that changed everything: my nearly twenty-year marriage wasn’t what I believed it to be, nor had it been for a very long time.
For myself and many, divorce is a kind of death—one that doesn’t come with a funeral, but
demands you grieve just the same. I mourned the life I thought I was living and the future I had planned. I mourned the loss of my family and the decision to leave my career. I mourned my misplaced trust, and worse, the loss of my ability to trust myself. In my overwhelming grief, I struggled to envision a way forward, much less reimagine my life anew. In this struggle, I began asking questions: Who am I? What are my gifts? What do I want? Where do I go from here? The answer brought me back to my younger self and old desires I had long forgotten.
The World At My Side
Last year, while visiting my twenty-one-year-old daughter during her semester abroad, she invited me to accompany her to an appointment – her first tattoo. Holding a sketch of the flower that would become permanently inked on her side, I watched as she casually flipped through pages of examples. As she admired the artists’ work, I admired her. She wasn’t looking for inspiration; she was self-assured and effervescent, oozing with excitement for the life that lay ahead of her – just as I had at her age, with the world at my feet. I smiled. Not because I found my daughter’s optimism foolish or her enthusiasm naïve, but because I recognized my younger self in her. A quiet knowing stirred within me. I asked if the artist had time for one more appointment. She did.
Though not on my foot as I’d once planned, my first tattoo is the world on the side of
my rib cage – mirroring the exact spot where my daughter placed hers. I like it here, where I
have to hug myself to touch it, and where I can watch it pulse with every breath. At twenty-one, I would have wanted the art to be neat and clean, but in that moment, I asked the artist to extend the watercolor beyond the lines, a nod to life in its beautiful, messy glory.
For me, the world honors the optimistic girl I once was and celebrates the resilience of the woman who fought to reclaim her. Nearly a decade after my devastating divorce, not only do I believe in endless possibilities, but I also believe in my ability to create them. I’m not living the life I’d imagined, but I’m living a life I love – one filled with hope, optimism, laughter, gratitude, and so much joy. With the world at my side, I’m forever reminded: as long as breath fills my lungs, the world and its limitless opportunities await.
For me, being resilient A.F. means more than simply moving on after a loss or painful hardship; it’s about boldly reimagining your life and taking action to create it. With the courage to release life as it once was, we can reclaim joy and discover our resilience in numerous meaningful ways.
The longer you lament the life you’ve lost, the less time you have to honor the life you’re living. Don’t wait until tomorrow – start reimagining your life TODAY!
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