The Turtle

Yesterday, I was driving into town around 1 o'clock when traffic suddenly came to a stop.

At first, I couldn't figure out why.

Then I saw them.

A young couple standing in the middle of the road, holding up traffic while trying to move something with a stick.

I knew immediately what it was.

A snapping turtle.

If you've ever seen one, you know they're not exactly cooperative participants in a rescue mission.

The turtle was enormous.

Determined.

Completely unimpressed with the fact that a line of cars was waiting on him.

As I watched, another vehicle pulled over.

A man jumped out, threw on a pair of gloves, walked straight into the road, picked up the turtle and carried him safely across to the ditch on the other side.

Traffic started moving again.

Everyone went on with their day.

And I found myself unexpectedly emotional.

There was something so beautiful about it.

Three complete strangers interrupting their day for a turtle.

No applause.

No social media post.

No reward.

Just people being kind because something vulnerable needed help.

I drove away smiling.

The world felt good.

Humanity felt good.

For a moment, it felt like maybe we were all taking care of each other after all.

A few hours later, around six o'clock, I was driving home after teaching a class.

As I approached the exact same stretch of road, something caught my eye.

A dark lump in the middle of the lane.

My stomach dropped instantly.

Before I even knew what I was looking at, I knew.

You know those moments when your body understands before your brain does?

That was one of them.

As I got closer, I could see it clearly.

A huge snapping turtle.

Dead.

Smashed in the middle of the road.

I burst into tears.

Not because I knew this turtle.

Not because I'm particularly attached to reptiles.

But because six hours earlier I had watched people save one.

And now here was another one that nobody had gotten to in time.

Or maybe someone had.

Maybe someone had moved her too.

Maybe someone had cared just as much.

Maybe she had simply gone back.

I don't know.

What I do know is that I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The truth is, people can try to save us.

God knows they try.

Parents try.

Friends try.

Partners try.

Coaches try.

Therapists try.

Sometimes complete strangers try.

People can warn us.

Guide us.

Carry us across dangerous roads.

Point out the risks we can't see.

They can love us fiercely enough to throw themselves into traffic for us.

But eventually, every one of us has to keep walking on our own.

And sometimes that's the heartbreaking part of being human.

The people who love us cannot live our lives for us.

They cannot make our decisions.

They cannot force us to choose the safer path.

They cannot protect us from every mistake, every heartbreak, every collision waiting somewhere down the road.

No matter how badly they want to.

No matter how hard they try.

As a mother, this feels especially true.

I spend so much of my life wanting to protect my boys.

To move them out of harm's way.

To warn them.

To carry them when the road looks dangerous.

To spare them from pain.

But that's not my job.

At least not forever.

My job is to teach them how to navigate the road themselves.

How to pay attention.

How to trust themselves.

How to recover when life knocks them down.

How to recognize danger when it appears.

Because one day I won't be standing in the middle of the road waving traffic to a stop for them.

One day they'll be crossing on their own.

I think that's why the turtle stayed with me.

It wasn't really about the turtle.

It was about the uncomfortable reality that love doesn't guarantee safety.

Being cared for doesn't eliminate risk.

Having good people around you doesn't mean you'll never get hurt.

Sometimes the people who love us do everything right.

Sometimes they show up.

Sometimes they rescue us.

Sometimes they carry us across the road.

And still, at some point, our choices become our own.

Our responsibility becomes our own.

Our journey becomes our own.

Yesterday I saw the very best of humanity.

People stopping what they were doing to help something smaller than themselves.

And a few hours later, I was reminded of one of life's hardest truths.

No matter how much people love us, no matter how many hands reach out to help, no matter how many warnings we're given...

Eventually we have to choose where we step.

And maybe growing up, healing, and becoming who we're meant to be is learning to appreciate the people who try to save us while also accepting that the road ahead is still ours to cross.