I could never be a turtle.
I know they are used in advertisements and they look so cute, but turtles in real life seem tired. Their shells appear heavy, like they’ve lived too long. The turtle life is not for me. I want to go a good length, I’m sure death is no picnic, but I really don’t want to stay too long at the party.
Life can be fantastic, but it is trying too. Puts wear and tear on a person, a soul. I want to leave before my shell eclipses my soft parts and all people see is the stuff I am carrying. Every time I look at a turtle, or a picture of a turtle, it seems weathered and dragging. I wonder if their shells get bigger or heavier as they grow older. Sort of like carrying a collection of life experiences on their back. Maybe the shell is lighter, softer, when they are younger and it hardens with age. I’ll have to Google.
Many people are fascinated with turtles, and longevity for that matter. I used to read a book to my children called Old Turtle, which was about a wise old turtle that spoke of peace. I can see the fascination. Tortoises have a pretty enigmatic shell, but the actual turtle body has to carry that thing. I don’t want any part of toting around a heavy load, no matter how impressive.
I’ll take a reasonable backpack of summer nights, birthdays, Christmas mornings, soft kisses and big hugs. Throw in a super rich moisturizer, some lip balm, and leave the rest for my children to divvy up and carry on.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Deep Sleep.