“I’d like a tattoo please,” I chirped excitedly.

The heavily inked woman behind the counter gave me a judgmental once-over. Her darkly shadowed eyelids slanted as they absorbed the two childish braids hanging over my shoulders. Her red painted lips parted in a smirk as she reached my knee-length flower patterned skirt. Her dark purple nails began to tap the glass display impatiently by the time she finally looked back up at the broad grin on my newly 18-year-old face.

“Hun, I’m not sure this is your type of thing,” she said slowly.

After multiple reassurances that I did, in fact, really want her tattoo gun to leave its permanent stain on my skin, my Doubting Thomas of an artist led me to her equipment.

I glanced around the room with interest – and then my eyes landed on the needle being extracted from its plastic casing.

I gripped the chair and clenched my eyes shut until I found a happy place filled with frolicking unicorns and coffee-flavored ice cream.

I had obviously known that I would be forced to face my sheer terror of needles in order to get my sweet tatoo. But I wasn’t quite prepared for the deep, dark sense of dread that filled my soul. So, I gave myself a not-so-small pep talk. Then, after three deep breaths, it was time.

Sure, I gasped when I first felt the sting. Sure, my eyes filled with tears for a few seconds as that needle-wielding woman filled in the shapes with color. Sure, I spent the whole 30 minutes cursing my stupidity. But I did it.

A few weeks before I turned 18, I had made a promise to myself. I promised that I won’t allow a fear of something to keep me from experiencing all that I can. I understand that fear can be a positive thing when it keeps us from suspicious-looking clowns or sketchy brownies, but when it prevents us from truly living, it is undoubtedly negative.

In one of my favorite movies, “Braveheart,” Mel Gibson’s character William Wallace states shortly before his torture and execution that “Every man dies, but not every man really lives.”

I think people find excuses to keep from having to take risks. But in my opinion, it’s the risks that make life worth living.

So, I think that we should all come to a point where we don’t regret the things we have done, but rather the things we haven’t done.