My Own Christmas Special

This ain't no Hallmark movie

We interrupt this program…

To let you know I got a tattoo.

I know I’ve been busily working on publishing a serial, but sometimes in the middle of a story, you have to stop and take note.

And did I mention I got a tattoo?

Oh, and it’s not just like some wimpy little butterfly freckle of a tattoo, it’s a full sleeve on my right arm.

Now when people get a tattoo, there’s always the question…is there a reason? And yes, there is. Multiple reasons, in fact. Let me tell you about it…

In January, I had a serious accident with my horse. Broken elbow, broken wrist, broken ribs, fractured vertebrae. Oh, and a broken pinky which no one noticed. Poor little finger. I spent nearly two weeks in the hospital until I was mobile enough to go home. It was upsetting to have this happen considering it was less than two years since my first accident when I shattered my shoulder and had it rebuilt with titanium plate and screws. It really was a pretty crazy way to start the year. But hey, I figured it could only get better from here.

So, in February, my wrist and my elbow were surgically repaired, turning my right arm into a veritable titanium scrapyard. Always one for spectacularly bad timing, my landlord came to the door as I was leaving for surgery. She handed me a piece of paper telling me my lease was terminated as she wanted to sell the house. Standing there in my back brace and arm sling, I asked her when she expected me to be out and, as the stereotypically terrible landlady she is, she says in a month. I laughed as I tossed the paper over my one good shoulder and headed to my Uber. Pointing at all the orthopedic accessories I was wearing, I said, “Yeah, that’s not gonna to happen.”

You may be able to intuit that I didn’t really like her much. Lest you think I am just being mean spirited, you should know she still owed me for thousands in emergency repairs I paid for out of my own pocket when she was conveniently unreachable. But I digress.

March I spent in physical therapy and recovering at home while on disability leave from work. I spent a lot of time reflecting on my life and considering my next move. Like why I kept wishing I didn’t have to go back to work and what terrible events in life happened that caused my soon to be ex-landlord to become such a truly odious and greedy grinch.

In April I returned to work, feeling mostly put back together and almost perky. My team welcomed me in a wonderful fashion, but the environment around us felt decidedly different. The people at work hadn’t all fallen off their horses, but everyone was struggling. The seemingly constant reorganizations were taking their toll, and I felt the impact. I tried to chalk it up to my own anxiety after being injured and having to move while still recovering, but my spidey senses were tingling. Things were not right.

In May, I bought my first house. A real grown ass house. Like a house an adult, which theoretically I am, would actually own and live in. The biggest financial commitment I’ve ever made in my life (if you don’t count the horses). Which only goes to show sometimes good follows bad and maybe I needed a kick in the ass to finally buy my own home. Thanks, landlady, for being such an odious and greedy grinch.

June and July were pretty quiet. We did manage a couple of horse shows but otherwise I was still feeling low key on account of smashing my body, being evicted, and trying to settle into the new house.

August was very exciting. Though not for me. The night in February when I came home from arm surgery, a friend who came over to spend the night to keep an eye on me, met my other friend who had just brought me home from the hospital. They’re both entertainment types (this is LA after all) and the introduction resulted in one friend getting the other friend set up for a successful show run at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. So her August in Scotland was super. She tells me that I fell off my horse to help progress her career and I’m okay with that. I’m a giver.

September is the season of mellow fruitfulness but it didn’t feel entirely mellow. The discontent at work was feeling more prevalent and my gut was telling me some serious gaslighting was happening. But it’s hard sometimes when you’ve been through some traumatic stuff to be sure whether it’s just your own anxiety or whether it’s reality.

In October, my employer leaned into the spooky season by notifying me and my team that we were being eliminated. We no longer existed. We became ghosts for Halloween.

And then in November, what I had feared most of my life: unemployment. And it’s nothing like I thought it would be.

It’s been faaaaaaabulous!

First thing I did was have my hair dyed multiple fun colors that I would never have dreamed of doing while I was working in a corporate setting. My Edinburgh buddy says I am not unemployed, I am fun-employed (you can see why she’s so successful). On Thanksgiving, I was able to truly be grateful for life’s abundance.

Now here we are in December, and I found myself thinking, “Gee, Lee, this has been a bit of a year.” Coloring my hair was fun, but what else can I do now that I don’t have the weight of being judged at work? I’d been thinking for some time about covering those fun surgery scars. And what better way to do that but with a tattoo that includes my horses, since at least one of them (I’m lookin’ at you, Ty) was partially responsible for said scars.

So I did it. Not some wimpy little butterfly freckle of a tattoo, but a full sleeve. And I couldn’t be happier.

There’s a moral to this year’s story somewhere. Good things can come from bad, peace can come from disturbance, what you fear most may be what you most need, a friend’s freak accident can launch your stage career.

There’s lots of reasons to get a tattoo. But here is why I chose to get mine: to remind me, it’s all going to be all right. Always. All of it.

Happy Holidays!