With everyone piercing everything these days, it’s hard to imagine how radical body piercing was back in the 60’s. Earlobes were okay—my boyfriend pierced mine with an ice pick at the kitchen table when I was 16—but, for a small-town white-bread family like mine, piercing anything else went beyond strange, all the way to barbaric.
So, it’s not surprising that my parents reacted to my desire to get my nostril pierced with breathless horror. In most other matters, they were astoundingly liberal—they were all right with my backpacking around the world, with my lack of interest in marriage and children, even with the extravagant number of men I brought home. But none of those things involved puncturing a body part. That was where they drew the line.
I loved the idea of having a sparkling gem or cute little hoop in my nose, the way Indian women did. I imagined it would make me look exotic and unique. But my parents had never met a person from India, and when I produced a magazine photo of a stunning Bengali woman with a glittering ruby nose pin, they act as if I’d walked into the room brandishing a severed head. “Just think what happens when she has a cold!” my father said. My parents were both certain that the slightest sniffle would send a geyser of snot through the piercing.
Of course, I could have done it anyway once I turned 18, but I decided it just wasn’t worth the anguish my folks would go through, or the grief they’d give me. Instead, I let the idea go. For more than forty years.
Now, my parents are both in a better place. I’m old (or, as I prefer to think of it, oldish), and nostril piercing is about as radical as letting your bangs grow out. In other words, it was high time I did this thing. Saturday, I drove over to Saint Sabrina’s Precision Piercing in Uptown Minneapolis, and had a small, sparkling stud installed in my left nostril.
How did it go? Frankly, it was a lot like writing.
It’s adventurous, but only in a teeny way. Let’s face it: This was not like applying for the astronaut program. It felt adventurous in the way that trying a new food or flying to Key West feels adventurous. It’s new. It’s different. It awakens your senses. But it’s hardly Indiana Jones territory.
So it is with every poem, every story, every time we sit down to write. No two days are alike. No two pages are the same. Word combinations we’ve never used before somehow come out of our pens. It’s adventurous, but not flying-around-the-world-in-a-hot-air-balloon adventurous. More like having a Swiss-chard-and-dried-strawberries-pizza adventurous.
It feels risky, but really isn’t. I had misgivings. I worried about what my husband would say, what my friends would think, whether it would look just plain stupid. All of those considerations made it feel vaguely risky. But, of course, it wasn’t risky at all. Some people will like it; Some people will hate it; Most won’t give a rat’s butt one way or the other. And if I hate it, I can always take the stud out. It’s not like a tattoo I’ll take to the grave.
Writing often gives us writers the same feeling of risk, as if we have something truly momentous on the line. But what, actually, are we risking? Nothing is going to happen to us if we write a bad poem. It’s not like our houses are going to go into foreclosure because of that awkward story we just submitted. Writing teachers often tell us to take risks with our writing, but we should remember that the word risk—“a situation involving exposure to danger”*—doesn’t really apply.
We have no idea how it’s going to turn out until it’s done. I gazed into the mirror for days before getting my piercing. At Saint Sabrina’s, I stared at the jewelry selection paralyzed with indecision. I just couldn’t imagine how the piercing would look—until it was done. This is exactly the way writing goes. There’s no use trying to figure it out ahead of time—you won’t know if it’ll work until it’s on the page. You can’t even imagine the final product until it is a final product.
It’s the same for poems and piercing: If you’ve got the urge, what you have to do is do it. It’s the only way to find out. Because that urge isn’t going away. Believe me—not for forty years.
*Definition from Google.com.
This is fabulous, Jill! So inspiring that you fulfilled a heartfelt dream, and also that you were able to focus this story throuhg the lens of writing for your blog! Brilliant! Keep up the stellar work! Blessings, Bella P.S. The piercing looks great!
Thanks, Bella. It was fun to write. And I’m glad you like my new nose!
I have read your blog, it is very interesting. You were very curious about nose piercing and why not !! After all it looks awesome and gives traditional look to a girl/lady.
Thanks. I’m glad you liked my post.
It’s always very personal, what works for one person might not work for the next one. The ones on ears can also look gorgeous!
I agree. It’s a very personal decision.