This Turtle Made Me Stop And Listen

And gently reminded me of what I already had.

Three days ago, I was looking out my kitchen window, when I spotted a turtle.

A Turtle!

I have never seen a turtle in our backyard and I ran out to take a picture of it, for posterity’s sake and to announce “I had a turtle in my backyard!”

When my husband came home we were going to try and find it and put it back somewhere or bring it to a lake.

But we could not find her.

I sat with that thought for a moment and the more I thought about the turtle, the more I thought the universe was sending me a message.

So I looked up the significance of seeing a turtle just “appear” in your life. This is what it told me:

“The slow, steady pace of a turtle serves as a reminder to slow down, be patient, and trust the natural progression of your life’s journey.”

I laughed and cried at the same time.

In these last 7 weeks since starting Substack, my mind has been running a mile a minute. Figure Substack out. Come up with new article ideas. Engage with other writers. Find a part time job. Take care of the house, the cats, the garden. Be a decent person, mom, wife, friend. Get some sleep. You get my drift. Life gets stuck in your brain, and mine was a train wreck just waiting to happen.

Then I reread the message the turtle had sent me and just stopped,
literally stopped,
took a deep breath and said

OK turtle. You’ve got my attention.

I went back and reread some of my Substack posts recently and a pattern jumped out at me. Sadness. A lot of it. I kept showing up to the page carrying something heavy and just... pouring it out.

And honestly, that helped. Writing has always been how I process. Get it out of my head and onto the page. There is real value in that.

But reading it all in one sitting, I saw something I didn’t love. I had been writing from the bottom of the hole more than from the climb out of it.

And here is the truth. My life is still messy. The kind of messy that doesn’t clean up in a day.

This morning I got the we’re sorry email from Chick-fil-A. Honestly, the shift was 4 to 7, and that’s exactly when John gets home. Probably not the worst thing.

There is our diabetic cat named Matilda who requires medication. The bills are still real. The savings account is still more of a dream than a reality.

But messy is not the whole story. And I am looking at my writing a bit differently now.”

It wasn’t until this morning, standing in the Walmart aisle, everything shifted

I was in the frozen vegetable aisle, picking out packages of broccoli and green beans, when I said to myself:

Who am I to complain about my life right now?

And I began rattling off in my head all the good things that I am thankful for.

In the last year, I healed my foot without surgery, choosing physical therapy and patience over an operating table. I lost 30 pounds and am still going. I have John, who loves me through every crazy mood. I have my daughter Rosie, just 20 minutes away, calling each other every morning. I have four cats who make me laugh every single day, and four more outside who show up for breakfast like clockwork. I have a backyard full of wildflowers and birds, a writing nook that is mine, a neighborhood I walk through every morning and wave to people who wave back. I have a lot. I just wasn’t seeing it.

I went to Finlay Park yesterday to heed my turtle’s advice. Slow down, be patient, and trust the natural progression of your life’s journey.

What wise words from such a loving animal.

And while I was there, a slew of porcelain turtles sending that same message to me.

Pretty Wonderful.

I exhaled.

And the rain, which we needed, started to fall.

The timing was beautiful and I let the rain drops wash down my face.

I’m honoring what I have lost by just living my life now.

When I got home, I walked past something I have been quietly avoiding.

There is a keyboard just sitting in my art/craft area and it hasn’t been touched in 6 years.

It was my son Sean’s.

He loved music, played 5 instruments and was teaching me to play the keyboard right before he passed away June 22, 2020.

For six years I have walked past it. Some days I didn’t even let my eyes land on it. Because I knew what would happen. I knew that pressing a single key would open the door to all the sadness of his death, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to walk through it.

But the turtle kept whispering. Slow down. Be patient.

So I stopped. I looked at it. And I thought, maybe the sadness isn’t something to walk around anymore. Maybe it’s something to sit down at.

I love music too. And I am going to learn how to play. For him. With him, in whatever way that is still possible.”

My daughter Maggie was an amazing artist.

She created from her heart, purely and spontaneously, right up until the day she died October 16, 2023.

After she passed, I collected her artwork. Some of it lives on my wall.

The rest sits in bins I haven’t been able to fully open yet.

Because opening them means sitting inside her world again, and some days that is more than I can hold.

But the turtle is patient with me. And so, I think, is Maggie. I can hear her already. ‘Mom, just do it. You will be good at it.’

So I am going to take that art class. Not someday. Just slowly, the way the turtle is teaching me.

I’m honoring Sean.
I’m honoring Maggie.
And I’m honoring myself

Right now, grief and joy are not taking turns. They are living in the same space, at the same time.

And I am ok with that.

My situation hasn’t changed, just the lens I’m seeing it through.

Have you ever shifted your perspective, your lens, and suddenly started looking at the world with new eyes?

The Turtle was right.

Slow down.
Be Patient.
And Trust the Natural Progression of Your Life’s Journey.

I am listening to her and doing just that.