All hail the scar. For without it, the skin would be too perfect and the adventures missed too many.
Even if they’re the kind of scars that you pay someone else to create for you.
There’s that one story that you hated telling, about how you were nineteen. And drunk. And too impatient to wait for proper healing.
Then there’s the same story that you decide to rewrite thirteen years later…
And the most recent story is one involving orthostatic hypotension, which is a fancy way of describing what happens when someone with low blood pressure stands up too quickly and blacks out. Good times. You can see that I’m now proudly letting that story speak for itself. On my chin.
Stories etched on our bodies, scars remind us of who we are and all we’ve been through while providing the kind of memories that only permanent physical experiences can.
As Henry Rollins puts it…
Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.
