I was driving home with my daughter when we noticed a large snapping turtle crossing the roadway.
It was a tiny back street lined with a small pond on one side and the forest on the other. As we drove by, he settled down just a foot into the road. Hanging out there as if it were a rest stop. Right in the path of the cars cutting through our neighborhood at rush hour – blowing through the stop sign in order to cut a moment from their commute.
“Not happening!” I said as I pulled the car over.
“We are moving that turtle before he gets crushed,” I declared. I bounded from the car as my daughter muttered “Oh, here we go.” I carried my umbrella as a prodding agent which was totally unhelpful as it popped open immediately, rendering it useless. (More eye rolls from you know who. I might have even added a few myself as I looked quite ridiculous).
I found another totally inadequate stick which left us just staring at a magnificent, prehistoric looking turtle wondering what to do next.
We knew enough not to go near the front of him. They call them snapping turtles for a reason. While my daughter longed to pick him up and carry him, I had visions of her dropping him in the moment of a freakout. Nope. Meanwhile, he was resting as if he had all the time in the world and wasn’t facing imminent death (okay … I exaggerate).
A car pulled up and an older man asked if we were okay.
Explaining our predicament, he enthusiastically jumped out of his SUV with a golf umbrella as if he were going to single handedly rescue all of us. We were in business. He tapped him gently and the giant turtle stirred and tipped to one side. I knew if we could gently tap his other side, he would start to rise up and walk. Which he did.
Our rescuer got so excited he went around to take a photo for his grandkids.
And down went the turtle.
Dropping down at the sight of a looming threat …. a 6 foot gentle giant with a camera. Things worsened quickly when the giant decided to tap the turtle more strongly on the back of his shell with his foot. My kid and I exchanged a look.
Now we were party to traumatizing this magnificent creature instead of saving him.
With that final insult, “Snappy” promptly lumbered up onto the grass in the direction of the pond and hunkered down. He looked our way as if daring us to come near him. Fearing that our foot tapping savior could not curb his enthusiasm, we declared our effort a success. I mentioned I had to run out to the store in a bit and would check to make sure he hadn’t ventured back into harm’s way again. This gave us all permission to end our rescue mission.
Mind you, not one car had careened around that corner during our dramatic interlude.
“Well that went well.” stated you know who. A bit later I headed out to the store and was alert as I fully stopped at the corner stop sign. Scanning the grass to the right, I noticed the area was totally free of that huge turtle. The reason?
He was lumbering across the street toward the woods.
As turned the corner, I watched as he settled down into his protective position – shell to the ground – right in the middle of oncoming traffic in the other direction. Wiser now, I slowly rolled past him as if he wasn’t there. Hoping I wouldn’t see him crushed on my return trip, I had a revelation.
It occurred to me that he had probably crossed that road many times before I ever met him. This certainly wasn’t his first adventure.
After all he was a mature turtle, not some tiny little thing out on his first independent stroll. He had to have some skill to have made it this far in a residential neighborhood. Perhaps I had confused my concern with his need for rescue. Now who was rolling her eyes?
I got to wondering about all the times my intent to be helpful may have actually diverted someone from their intended path.
How I made the assumption that someone needed rescuing when Life was offering them what they required in that moment.
It isn’t the first time I’ve stopped my car to turn around a turtle. Let’s just say I have a history of such behavior. Now, before I move in to help, I pause. I become curious. I wonder what Life might already be doing before I assume my role within the story.
I didn’t see Snappy on the way home, but that didn’t surprise me.
He had already taught me what I needed to know. I was grateful and wiser as a result of our encounter. I figured he had lumbered off to teach some other well meaning, silly human.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
Over the past several months, I have been immersed in conversation with women. In therapy sessions, Via Sophia circles, and at dinner tables. During walks, ceremonies, and quiet moments after gatherings have ended. I’ve been listening as stories unfold. Different women. Different lives, histories, and circumstances. Yet beneath the details, I keep hearing a remarkably similar story. Many women are tired.
Last week, I left the house a little earlier than usual.
Not because the day ahead was spacious. Quite the opposite. It was full. Appointments, responsibilities, errands to run, bags still to pack for my upcoming conference. One of those days where the hours already seem spoken for before they even begin.
And yet, before leaving, I found myself lingering in the garden.
The overgrown bushes had finally been removed, opening up an entire section of the bed I hadn’t really seen clearly in years. New flowers and shrubs had recently been planted, and I stood there for a few moments appreciating the fresh openness of it all. The morning light and the possibility of adding a few colorful blossoms. The beauty of something being tended and made new.
There comes a moment when something within you begins to shift.
Not because life is failing. Not because you have done something wrong. But because what once felt meaningful no longer feels like enough.
Many women arrive at this threshold quietly. Others experience it more viscerally, through exhaustion, change, loss, longing, or the growing realization that the life they have carefully built no longer fully reflects who they are becoming.
You may already feel this happening within you now.
