I was mowing my lawn this past Sunday and I was distracted with heavy thoughts. Earlier that day I read a Facebook post about a local tattoo artist that unexpectedly passed away. With each push of the mower I diligently manicured my lawn, making sure the stripes were as defined as possible.

I edged the curbs and pulled the weeds. I blew the debris, grass clippings and leaves into neat piles then raked and disposed of them. All the while, my mind was rapidly jumping from lawn care to the little tattoo shop that just lost one of their beloved artists.

You may wonder why I was so preoccupied with this particular tragedy? Well, it’s simple, I have a right arm full of tattoos. It all started with a cover up of a previous tattoo gone wrong, a tale as old as time. From there the artist’s work was so beautiful and special to me, that I couldn’t seem to stop until I had a sleeve full. It was also somewhat easy to convince my wife Shannon to approve since a big ole “S” was used for the original cover up.

Tattoos, once stigmatized in society, have finally seemed to gain the respect they deserve. No different than wearing unique shoes or a quirky t-shirt. Tattoos are merely a permanent accessory to which one can express themselves. Like I tell my children, why fit in when you were made to stand out?

Having ink on the skin serves many purposes. It may not be for everyone, but neither are speedo swimsuits. To each their own. Tattoos represent special days such as anniversaries, the loss of a loved one, or birth dates. They are favorite emblems and fan art, and have also held spiritual and religious meanings throughout history. Every time I look down at the spider logo on my forearm, I will always remember watching the first Spiderverse movie with my son on Father’s Day.

Sitting in that chair having art needled into your skin is almost zen like. The buzzing of the machine hums like chanting monks. The rush of endorphins and deep conversations provide an experience of laughter, pain, and healing. You enter a reprieve from reality and leave with an everlasting mantra.

As I put my lawn equipment away, I just couldn’t seem to go inside. I felt relaxed just where I was. I found my own zen space in my artful approach to lawn care. The humming of the mower and the diligence of weed pulling seemed to ground me. I’m not one to wear earbuds while working outside so my only option is to be alone with my thoughts. With so many distractions out there today, something as simple as mowing the lawn awakens a deeper level of thinking. Allowing the mind to wander around on its own can really help declutter the ego.

I didn’t personally know the artist who passed away. We had only spoken a few times while I was at the shop getting tattoos and I was lucky to watch him work in the process. He was beyond talented and left behind a permanent legacy. Just imagine being the last one to sit in his chair. What an honor.

We never know when the sirens are coming our way. That unexpected call or dreaded knock upon our door. We’re told ad nauseam that life is a gift, but how quickly we forget. For this life we treasure we’re also told to live it without care. Live every day like it’s your last, but don’t take it for granted, a paradox in and of itself.

After much rumination, the sweltering heat outweighed my mindfulness and I headed indoors. There waiting for me was my lovely wife and my two sleeping dogs. I smiled with gratitude but knew deep down that my awareness was probably fleeting and I would unintentionally forget how lucky I am.

I’ve wanted to write about tattoos for some time now, I just didn’t know it would happen under these circumstances. But in my reflection I think I’ve found the answer to life’s paradox. Rather than finding ways to live life to the fullest and not falter in the process, maybe we should just make it matter while we’re here. I sometimes wonder why we have to die? Maybe it’s to make life important. I think what’s fundamental is that we’re remembered just for who we are, because when it’s all said and done that’s all we ever really had.

I’m inspired by talented artists because their work never dies, and with each push of the mower I can only hope to follow suit. We have to let our work speak for itself, because if good, it will talk. If great, it will shout, and if genius it will sing!

Rest in peace Connor.

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Bowen writes in his free time and is working on a book about his experiences and travel. Email him at [email protected].