Home >Magazine >A First Tattoo at Age 62: New Friends, New Life, New Ink

A First Tattoo at Age 62: New Friends, New Life, New Ink

Though she'd never wanted a tattoo before, Jeannie Ralston, fresh out of a long marriage, plunged in to mark a transformative experience with friends.

I thought my two new friends were tattoo virgins as well. That was my understanding on Day Two of our Inca Trail Hike, when the three of us—plus nine other NextTribers—were on the hardest part of the four-day trek.

Courtney and Denise, who knew each other from Austin before coming on the trip, said somewhere along the grueling climb over the 14,000-feet Dead Woman’s Pass that if they made it all the way to Machu Picchu in one piece, they would get a tattoo to commemorate the accomplishment. “I’ll get one with you!” I exclaimed without much thinking. I just like to be part of any type of fun or challenge.

We talked a bit about what kind of tattoo it would be. Maybe an Incan cross? Maybe words that had resounded among the 12 of us along the trail: “You got this.” The discussion of the look and placement of said piece of ink was a nice distraction from the ever-steep climb.

Read More: Our Second Annual All-Women’s Hike to Machu Picchu: How You Can Join in 2023

Shit Gets Real

Tattoo over 50

The Pachamama symbol we chose

Several days after we had returned to the States, Machu Picchu having successfully been bagged, I got a text from Courtney asking if I was serious about the tattoo.

This time I wasn’t so impulsive. Did I really want a tattoo? I had gone almost 62 years without one. I didn’t hate them; I just had never come across anything that seemed important enough to place permanently on my body. My ex-husband, a photographer, had a discreet and apt tat on his calf since before I met him: a small eye. In college, my youngest son got inked with a scorpion on one pec and an agave plant and lavender flowers on the other—all three images related to our family history.

Was my hike on the Inca Trail with my NextTribe pals worthy of a place on my skin?

Was my hike on the Inca Trail with my NextTribe pals worthy of a place on my skin? I had done the Inca Trail years earlier with my husband and kids and hadn’t memorialized that in any way. But I thought about the power of that hike in October with 11 other women who weren’t sure they could make it the whole 26 miles—the way we bonded over a shared goal, the way the 12 of us came together to become like a “family” (the word our guide kept using for our group), the way we encouraged each other.

Then I thought how the Inca Trail hike was in some way an embodiment of all that I had ever wanted to accomplish with NextTribe when I launched it almost six years ago. I was helping women grow and challenge themselves, encouraging them to do things they never thought they could do—things they may have felt too old to do. For that reason particularly, I did feel the trip had earned a place on my body.

Also weighing into the decision: I had just come out of a 29-year marriage, and felt freer than ever to express myself, to go with my whims and desires. Why not acknowledge that?

The Ink Man Cometh

tattoo over 50

Denise and Courtney go first, bold women that they are!

Courtney, Denise, and I picked a date for our inking. I was going to be in Austin the first week of December, and Courtney did the research to find a good tattoo studio. For some reason, I kept thinking we’d be doing an Incan cross, but Courtney came up with another idea: a spiral circle with three dots at the end of the spiral is the symbol for Mother Earth (a.k.a. Pachamama) in Incan culture. It is simple, elegant, and significant. Plus, it has meaning beyond Incan culture. I wanted us all to have the same pattern, so I went along happily.

As the day approached, I was trying to decide where on my body to place the tattoo. I knew I didn’t want to hide it on my ribs or in the “tramp stamp” region. I wanted to show it with pride. Some people suggested my wrist, so I could see it often to remind myself of the trip and the camaraderie. Others thought the ankle area was perfect.

Some people suggested my wrist, so I could see it often to remind myself of the trip and the camaraderie.

On the day we met, which happened to be the day before my 62nd birthday, I still hadn’t decided where it would end up. But Denise and Courtney had decided on the foot, so I decided to stay in step, so to speak.

As we waited for our tattoo artist, Spadi, in an un-stereotypically clean and bright space in a suburban strip center, I noticed something written on Denise’s wrist. “11:11” it said. It was a tattoo!

“I thought ours was going to be your first?” I asked. She explained that she had gotten it two days earlier. She, her husband, and three kids have a ritual that at 11:11 a.m. or p.m., in any time zone, they text each other to say how grateful they are to be part of their family. “My daughter thought my first tattoo should relate to our family. She insisted on it,” Denise told me. She and her husband had both gotten the “11:11” ink, and I couldn’t blame them. What a beautiful tradition to commemorate.

Then Courtney took off her watch to show me a small ink dot. “I got this a few years ago because of my father,” she said. “He had a dot just like this under his watch.” She told me the story of how when her father was in the Navy, a bunch of guys tried to convince him to get a tattoo after a night of drinking. Her father was reluctant, but went along. The tattooist asked him what image he wanted and her father simply said, “Just start and I’ll tell you what to do.” When the tattooist put the first blot of ink on his wrist, her father said, “OK, stop.”

“I have a picture of my dad and me holding hands when he was dying,” Courtney said, her eyes welling with tears. “We both have the little dot on our wrists.”

Not So Virginal After All

tattoo over 50

The author finally getting her ink

So, it turned out that I was the only tattoo virgin, but that was OK. It’s always nice at this age to be the virgin at something. I loved doing this with friends who were there to encourage me. I wasn’t scared, but it wouldn’t mean as much if I had done it alone. I watched Denise, then Courtney get their Pachamamas and hooted and cheered after each was done. When it was my time, I felt extra brave because they were there watching, smiling, and laughing with me.

When it was my time, I felt extra brave because they were there watching, smiling, and laughing with me.

Once Spadi put needle to ankle, I barely flinched. “Is that it?” I asked. I don’t know if it was because of the location (some areas of the body hurt more than others) or because of all the good feelings in the room surrounding these new-found and deep friendships formed in harder conditions than this—friendships, I understood at that moment, that would last as long as this ink.

Oh, and then came the bonus. Courtney texted after all was done: “We made Spadi’s Instagram page!” There we were: Three over-50 women with simple, discreet designs, among a bunch of youngs with sleeves, neck roses, angel-wing backs, and barbed-wire collar bones. Hoorah for us!

Read More: Mom-Daughter Tattoos: A True Adventure Story

 

By Jeannie Ralston

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related Articles

Find your tribe

Connect and join a community of women over 45 who are dedicated to traveling and exploring the world.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This