I did it.

I got a tattoo.


For anyone who truly knows me, you would know that nearly everything I do is intentional. I ponder. I overthink. Especially when it comes to things that matter to me, I am calculated. I am not usually one to make a big decision on impulse.
So when it came to a tattoo, I never thought I would go there because I never thought I would be able to make my mind up on something so permanent. If I did it, it would have to be something I was sure of. Something intentional. Something with purpose. Something that meant so much to me that it was part of me. Something I felt like I couldn’t NOT get put on my body.

“I love you.”

I spew those words to my family like Beverly Goldberg.

And I do.

I do love them more than life itself.

But the more times I said it, the more it started to dawn on me the flippant way that I was using the phrase.

Because love is more than just words. It is action. It is a choice.

And what happens when the one you say you love is a jerk? When friends betray you? What happens when you are mistreated? What happens when they annoy you? When they smell or do nasty things or look gross? When you no longer want to love? When friends ignore you? When the butterflies of amazing feeling flee and reality of the junk and funk of life settles in? What happens when loving becomes hard? Like really, really hard?


Love is action.
Love is intentional.
Love is a choice.

So I got a tattoo.

Because love equals action. (Love/Verb)
It needs to be visible. (Wrist)
It should be used every day. (Right hand)
Not everyone understands the concept. (Takes a minute to make it out)

It is to remind me to make the choice to love. Make the choice to show kindness and compassion even when I don’t feel like it. That loving is not optional. It isn’t.

True love is more than just words.

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