My Tattoo

Hey there, Stephen. I stopped by the other day to say hi, but I haven't gotten around to writing. School's been a whirlwind. Six classes may have been a lot to chew, especially when they're covering topics I know little about. I just finished venture capital, and I like to think my sweetness and big-eyed gaze compensate for my complete ignorance. Unfortunately, I think the big-eyed gaze also increases the likelihood of me being cold-called and sounding ignorant, so it's a trade-off. Business school is a very good place to realize all you don't know. I should probably be reading for that class, but I wanted to stop by.

I recently visited Dublin and passed a stand of used books during a walking tour. I was inspired to find the quote from the Dubliners I have tattooed on my rib cage. You remember, the one Mom and Dad did not like in the least? I wanted to read it in context since the last time I actually read the Dubliners was in high school. I didn't get the tattoo until years later, and the story in my head went something like this:

There was a man who didn't pursue his love in his youth because he was scared of rejection, of failure. And years later, he saw his former love and her husband of many years at a Christmas party, and he lamented: "Tis better to pass boldly into that other world in the full glory of some passion than to fade and wither dismally with age."

I found the Dubliners by James Joyce and flipped through to the Dead, the final pages of the book. There was a woman, a childhood love, and a marriage, but it was very different than what I remembered:

A man and his wife were returning from a festive party, where they had enjoyed all the luxuries of a fine life. On the walk home, the man's wife told him about a childhood love. They had frolicked in the summers, and before she had to return to boarding school, the boy, who had pneumonia at the time, ran to her window in the rain and told her he didn't want her to go. He caught severe illness and died. Much more depressing than I remembered. But years later, after hearing his wife relay this emotive story, her husband lay in bed and lamented that he had never felt that passionate about any aspect of his life.

I had been telling myself the wrong story all these years - and I'm sure Mom and Dad would appreciate the fact that I had something permanently affixed to my being without actually knowing its meaning. As it is, I like the real version better. The Dead wasn't about love lost due to lack of action - which could have been useful knowledge that time I confessed my feelings to the rando at the coffee shop. The Dead was about settling and the fact that it's such an easy thing to do without even realizing you're doing it.

So here we are. Year two. I think there are two routes I can pursue. One seeks comfort. It sees business school as the next step in a series of check boxes leading to what those around me define as a successful life. A job that pays $250,000 in two years, a nice bonus, a coveted status, a life that affords all comforts. The other seeks discomfort. It sees business school as the next step to something greater, though I'm not sure what that is yet. The interesting aspect is, discomfort could ultimately lead to a life of comfort, but the underlying motivation is different. And it's that motivation that will prevent me from looking back years from now and lamenting that I didn't pass boldly.