Menopause Uniforms

By Kate Poux

Driving with my daughter the other day, she noticed a typo on the flyer we created for Put Some Claws in Your Pause. In the sentence that says, “We enter (this time of life) uninformed, uninspired and unsupported,” it ACTUALLY says we enter this time of life uniformed. After the initial shock and embarrassment, I kind of love the idea that we might all get uniforms when we enter menopause. I mean, imagine how boss we could make them, especially if a certain Claws alumni’s daughter designed them for us (Zivia??)? I’m thinking something along the lines of Ghostbusters, but I think we should be able to tailor them to whatever works best for our lifestyles. I’m reading Handmaid’s Tale right now, so it’s important to clarify that  the uniforms would be optional and powerful, and very breathable. And they would have NAME TAGS, which would make every single social situation more relaxing and enjoyable for me. Hell maybe we could make up new names for ourselves in menopause. Maybe if you come to a  Claws in Your Pause retreat, we birth new names for ourselves, have a naming ritual, chant the new names together in the sweat lodge! 

And imagine the support and companionship we might encounter walking around life if we could spot each other in a crowd. It reminds me of when my daughters were in preschool and we participated in the amazing Talking about Touching personal safety lessons for children. We taught our kids safety steps to follow if they ever got separated from their grown-ups in a store or a crowd. Step 2 was find an adult wearing a uniform and tell them you need help finding your grown-up. What if  we could find a Menopauser wearing a uniform to help us relate or calm down or comfort us through whatever crisis might be unfolding around us or share in the hilarious moment we appreciate so much more because of our life experience? What if the uniform represented a promise to look out for each other, a visual reminder that we are not alone? Of course, it would also mean that everyone else would be calling on us for help all the time, even more than they already do, so that might be a drag. Maybe you just wear it a few days a week. But still. 

So, we probably won’t have the uniforms designed by this May in time for Put Some Claws in Your Pause, Version 3, but that means you can get in on the prototype designs! And we have learned a bunch from our first 2 retreats that we can’t wait to share with you. Highlights will include: sharing our strategies and mid-life expertise with each other, powerful writing and yoga meditations, making art, eating lots of chocolate and delicious meals, burning stuff, and beautiful natural surroundings that will inspire and take care of you. The idea is that we take a few days off to take good care of ourselves and each other at this transformational moment in our lives. We would love to celebrate with you, we hope you can join us this May….. and  just kidding about the uniform prototype thing. Sort of.

Periodopausal

By Laura Culberg

When my daughter got her period a few years ago she introduced me to an app called Clue. It tracks your period. You input your symptoms (happy, headache, ovulation, tender breasts), your mood (happy, sensitive, sad, PMS) and your flow (light, medium, heavy, spotting). The majority of my friends report by the hundreds of days when their last period was. The word on the street is that, once you don't get your period for a full year you are officially in menopause.

I still get my period every month but I've noticed my period has changed drastically in the last several months and so I've reengaged with my Clue App to see if I can get a handle on what's coming. This past month my period lasted for thirteen days. I only had one or two heavy days and the rest were just spotting. Annoying and unpredictable spotting. So I'm not in menopause yet, but I am definitely perimenopausal or periodopausal as I have started to think about it.

I get irritated with the constant drip system that has become my body. I hear myself complaining to my family, "Oh my GOOOD. I still have my period!" It must get old, hearing crazy Laura go on again about how many days it's been. I'm know I'm not unique or special. I am totally aware of the fact that, at age 51, I am in good company with lots of other women who experience a similar period surprise party every month, never knowing exactly what to expect.

There is a part of me that feels grateful to still get my period. I get to share the period supply closet with my daughter and it makes me feel like I'm still kind of young. My period is familiar. I've been experiencing it every month for over thirty-five years. The other day at dinner my daughter, complaining of her own period woes said, "Mom, if I live to age 95 like GeeGee, if you calculate all the days of my periods, it comes to twelve years. I will have bled for twelve whole years of my life." That's a lot of bleeding.

My period has not always been thirteen days. I have a feeling that it will slowly start to creep back down until it disappears entirely. So what's all this complaining about? What's the lesson? I'm  attached to my period. I am holding on tight to this natural process that I've experienced for the majority of my life.  While it comes out as a complaint, when I look back and think about it, I can detect excitement and satisfaction, "I still HAVE it!" vs "I still have it!"

When my daughter got her period I wrote her a letter. I bought her eight different boxes of pads and panty liners. I bought her special padded period panties and I cried as I told her how much I loved her and always would. Getting the period is a big deal. And not getting it is a big deal too.

There should be a ritual for this moment. I wonder what it should be. It should be a ritual moment acknowledging this twelve years of periods in our lives. I don't know what it is yet, but I know it should be special, it should be something that feels like saying hello and goodbye at the same time. And, if you want to know what the ritual is, you can always come to one of our Put Some Claws in Your Pause retreats. 

Mahjong

By Laura Culberg

Since I started educating myself about menopause and trying to spread some positivity about this next chapter, I've been gifted with countless links from friends and family relating to menopause: the latest medical research, tropical retreats and programs for women in their fifties, ways to replenish estrogen, and humorous anecdotes about hot flashes and other menopausal symptoms.

One of the things I've learned is that it is important to establish practices in our forties and fifties that will minimize the cognitive decline that comes in our sixties and seventies. There is a recent correlation between Alzheimers and the decrease in estrogen so obviously women my age are concerned! What can we do to stay sharp and maintain our current mental, physical and emotional health?

We know that intellectual stimulation and human interaction are two important factors in staving off cognitive decline. If we start now, in our forties and fifties, the practices will be set and we won't have to start from scratch when we are sixty or seventy. If we wait, it's harder to introduce the brain to new habits. Once the decline starts, it's very difficult to introduce these preventive practices.

I'm in a rare and very fortunate position in my life right now. Having just sold my business, I have time to follow different curiosities and learn new things. I've had time to read and contemplate some of this menopause research more thoroughly. And, unlike before when I read something and tabled it until I had more time, now, like a mouse following cheese, I have time to follow one thought to another. I have time to create some practices that will help me as I get older.

One of my friends in New Orleans recently told me that her seventy-eight-year-old mother plays Mahjong three times a week and is fit as a fiddle mentally. My daughter Lucia is reading the Joy Luck Club and told me that Mahjong is a big part of the story, and so, as I tend to do, I took these two Mahjong references as a sign that learning Mahjong was an important part of my path.

I searched online and found that they teach both Chinese and American (also referred to as Jewish) Mahjong at the senior center near my house. I called and found out that even though I'm only fifty-one, I would be welcome there. I imagined a big room with multiple tables, like a poker salon, but when I got there it was just me and two other women, not even enough to make a full table of four. Suzanna and Louise gave me an extensive private lesson including the Chinese words for all the suits and numbers. Eventually a few more women joined in so we had a rotating table of four with the experienced players helping the newcomers.

Mahjong was hard. Learning the different parts--- The Winds, Dragons, and other symbols as well as learning the Chinese characters and sounds felt a little like taking piano at age forty-five-- like I was trying to dig new neural pathways with a shovel, but what I really needed was a back hoe.

I had moments of self-consciousness for myself as I sat with these five senior citizens. Was it weird that I was going to the senior center way before I was a senior? At one point all of the women were talking about how to use their Medicare benefits to pay for Silver Sneakers and I felt like a total imposter. I was the youngest by twenty-years in our little party of six. And I was the dumbest. All of the seventy-somethings used Chinese for the numbers and suits while I stuck to awkward English descriptions for each tile.

The feeling I had during my two hours of Mahjong with these lovely elders was one of presence and ease. These women modeled for me the true sense of just being. I (even though I don't actually have a job to go to!) am still heavily burdened by the idea that I am supposed to be doing something important, that I am supposed to be working towards becoming something. But what? I'm sure all of the women around the table have duties and responsibilities-- family, homes, maybe even jobs.

I had to wonder, was it the twenty years of life these women had on me? Had they experienced life -- kids growing up and moving away, deaths, illnesses and other experiences of grief, loss and aging-- that, in some amazing way, opened up a clear path to their pure expression of  joy and presence?

I don't know. I'm still learning about menopause and aging. New research is always happening and the jury is out as to whether injecting estrogen directly into the brain is going to be the cure for cognitive decline for us women. I'm thankful for that little two-hour window of Mahjong where I got to learn a new game that might curb my own loss of mental acuity, but more importantly, I'm grateful for the chance to witness the bigger picture-- the potential for joy and presence in the years to come.

Little Otters in the Lake

By Laura Culberg

This morning when the whole house was fast asleep and there was just enough light to feel like it was actually morning, I dragged Freckles out of his soft, warm dog bed into the drizzle and walked down to the lake. When I got to the boat launch at the end of our street there was one car parking and a young woman got out to walk down to the shore. I noticed her because there were no other cars or people. I wondered if she'd had a long, hard night, if she was sad because someone had died, if she had a big decision to make and needed to look at the clarity of the lake to find some answers.

I let Freckles off his leash so he could wander and, just as I did, I noticed a huge splash in the lake. I looked towards the young woman to see if she'd noticed but she was in her own world, quietly staring towards the boats in the marina. I started my walk south and soon saw a pair of otters. I've been seeing a lot of otters these days and I wondered if maybe that splash had been an otter or two splashing their tails at the same time.

As I walked, I saw no fewer than nine otters, a record for me. "This is a sign," I thought to myself, and I made a mental note to look up the symbolism of river otters. Further down the path I ran into my neighbor and his standard poodle. I mentioned how many otters I'd seen that morning and he said, "Did you see the beaver?" He told me that the beavers had a dam over in Seward Park and often swam north around this time in the morning. That explained the splash. Beavers are much bigger than otters. I was so excited to learn about this presence in my favorite lake. I'd have something new to watch for on my morning walks.

When I got home from my walk I dried Freckles' paws and immediately went to research otters. Otters represents the inner child, celebrating joy in the simple things, the freedom to do what our instincts tell us to do. I love the concept of spirit animals, or totems, because they help explain the magic of the universe. Why I'd been drawn to go out into the dark, drizzly morning today made sense. It was to see all those amazing otters and the lone splashing beaver. And seeing all the otters today made me contemplate "why now?" when normally I catch a glimpse of one or two once every fourth or fifth walk.

Since selling my business, I have been trying to live in the land of simply "being." I've tried to listen to my heart's desire. When I read about otters representing the inner child, I reviewed where I've been and what I've done with my time in the last month. I've painted pictures, sewn a Christmas stocking for my dog, made a pine cone wreath, baked multiple loaves of bread and several cakes, repotted plants, and done my writing practice almost every day. I have been listening to my instincts, doing things that bring me joy. Seeing the otters this morning affirmed this path I am on and gave me a great sense of connection to the wonders of the universe.

I couldn't help but look up the symbolism for the beaver. The beaver totem represents persistence in work, an invitation to vigilantly work on a task or project until it is done. This makes sense, that I only saw the "tail end" of the beaver; only glimpsed the aftermath of it's big tail splashing. I'm not in the productivity mode to get things done and make things happen. Right now, I'm in otter-mode, connecting with my inner child and finding joy.

What is my worth?

By Laura Culberg

For the first time in my adult life I am in the position of not having a "real job." I am on a chosen hiatus from being fully defined by my job. I am incredibly lucky. I have savings and an infinitely supportive partner who will help financially shepherd me through this time of not generating much income.

What I find though, is that instead of luxuriating in this newfound spare time, I am, at times, filled with a sense of unworthiness. I was raised to believe that my value came from working hard, and a lot. In my family making a lot of money was never the big thing, but being busy, having something to do, gave us value and stature. Growing up in the United States I've learned that having money gives me power, authority and respect. So here I am with lots of free time and no cash flow. My default, patterned brain goes to the idea that I am a loser, but the part of my brain that I've been working over the last decade to strengthen, the here and now brain, says that feeling unworthy is a just a construct.

This feeling has inspired me to explore what worth means to me. I've read about it, written about it, meditated on it. What does worth mean to me? It means having a sense of place and purpose in the world. Does it relate to busy-ness? Not really. I'm beginning to understand that, for me, it relates more to a sense of connection with people and the universe around me. Does it relate to income? A little. I want to be able to carry my weight in my household. But more than income, it relates to a different kind of fullness- a fullness in my heart and mind. Are the things I do everyday bringing me joy? Are they bringing me, and maybe others, closer to a feeling of connection with the universe?

I don't have the answers to these questions. These unknowns are where my curiosity lies right now. I'm going to keep exploring and imagining. I do know that being in this place of "perceived emptiness" (e.g. no job) is hard. I am swimming upstream against a flood of beliefs that are deeply grooved into our society and my brain. Everyday is a new challenge and another step towards understanding what brings me joy, heals my heart, and deepens my sense of connection to the world around me.

Is Menopause really the Final Frontier

By Laura Culberg

Last night I was having wine with a friend who was launched into menopause very suddenly because she went through radiation. She didn't have the slow (oftentimes years-long slow) decrease in the frequency of her period. It was one month there, and then gone. She was surprised by her experience of not menstruating any more. "I thought when I stopped getting my period it would be so amazing" she said, "I thought I would be so happy to be done with thinking about it." But the reality, she shared, was that having no period has been no big deal, that she can barely remember what it was like to have her period and the inconvenience of it. Our other friend shared that it's been 220 days since her last period. We spent a LOT of time talking about our periods. The topic comes up every time I hang out with women my age.

I've always believed that getting my period is a powerful and magical thing. I've conveyed this belief to my daughter and tried to make her proud and vocal about her period and all of the inconveniences that come with it. I never wanted her to feel any shame or secrecy about this natural body function. The existence of the physiological function of menstruation enables us to become pregnant which is both a good thing, and sometimes not such a good thing. But nevertheless, there is power in the period.

We're taught as women that once we reach menopause (aka no longer menstruating) that we're moving into the final frontier. I always envisioned this final frontier as a kind of death, in part because the menstruating super power ceases to exist. But now that I'm there, it doesn't feel like the final frontier at all. I'm considering a third career. I'm fully engaged in becoming a better, more present, loving, involved partner and parent, and my creative juices are flowing like never before (even though my period is flowing very irregularly).

It's got me thinking-- what are we missing by putting so much focus on the period. Yes, we need to claim it-- to advocate for health insurance to pay for the tampons and pads that we have to pay for every month, to appeal to the FDA to support medications that really help with PMS, to educate our young girls about this superpower-- but when it's gone, we get new superpowers right?

I want to focus on that. What are the new superpowers that come with the final frontier? The end of the period? This is an invitation to all of you women out there who are in the final frontier. Please write me back and share with me what your new superpowers are. I'll compile them and share. Let's all walk boldly into this final frontier........

Mrs. Putnam

by Laura Culberg

My mom, still of the newspaper age, just sent me a clipping from the Hyde Park Herald, the weekly from the neighborhood where I grew up in Chicago. The clipping was an obituary for Maryann Putnam, my high school geometry teacher.  Mrs. Putnam had a thick New York accent. She wore denim every day--- denim vest and skirt set, denim jumper, denim slacks and jacket. Mrs. Putnam had dyed black hair, wore large framed classes and was always covered in chalk. Even though my friends and I teased her, she thought we were funny and I knew she loved us.

During our senior year when my girlfriends and I needed to create a service project to graduate, we formed a group called the Pink Ladies. It was 1986 and we were playing off the girl gang from the movie Grease. Mrs. Putnam readily agreed to be our club sponsor and we'd meet with her regularly to talk about what we were up to. In reality, we didn't do anything except talk about what we might do if we actually could get our act together-- tutoring, food bank collection, school clean up. Our biggest accomplishment that year was singing back up for a Rockabilly band that played in the school cafeteria during dances.

Mrs. Putnam's obituary said that she was 95 when she died. That means that she was in her early sixties when she was my teacher, just ten years older than I am now. It's been so long since I've thought about Mrs. Putnam but as I read her obituary, the image of her in her denim skirt and vest, standing outside her classroom door came into my mind as clear as if it was yesterday. I can see her face--- pale next to her dyed black hair, partially hidden behind her big glasses--- smiling out at me with a hint of irritation as I walk by her, gabbing with my friends to get to our desks in class.

We were so annoying in high school-- especially to Mrs. Putnam. We made fun of her chalk covered clothes and her white roots growing under her black hair, of her big glasses and sensible shoes. But we loved her too because we knew that she loved us. Despite the Pink Ladies' profound lack of organization and productivity, she believed in us. She accepted the fact that, as seniors, not kids but not yet adults, we were doing the best we could to get our shit together. When I look back at it now I think she felt like our envisioning was enough for that moment in our lives. The process of thinking about what we were going to do, of talking about it, dreaming about it, was important, even if we didn't bring our ideas to fruition.

Those times with Mrs. Putnam, sitting in her chalk covered classroom during lunch, were incubator moments. Mrs. Putnam listened to us. She humored us and gave us her time and attention. As the mother of a teenage girl myself, I know how scatterbrained that species can be. I know how disorganized and chaotic their lives are. Being a teenager is wholly about transitioning- from child to adult.  I was surprised how affected I was to hear of Mrs. Putnam's death and I was so glad to know that she lived many happy years beyond her tenure as my math teacher. She deserved it. What Mrs. Putnam gave us, gave me those thirty-three years ago, was a quiet place to land for a moment or two during the maelstrom of my senior year in high school. Thank you Mrs. Putnam. I hope you knew that, despite my attitude and the fact that I was too self-absorbed during those years to tell you, I was (and am) grateful for your presence in my life.

Along Came a Spider and Sat Down Beside Her

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By Kate Poux

Laura’s Turtle Blog made me wonder about my spirit animal these days. A couple months ago, a spider made a web inside our kitchen nook window. At the time we were suffering a fruit fly invasion, so my daughter got really good at wafting the fruit flies into Tom Holland’s web and then we would all watch with delight as Tom spindled across his web, grabbed the fruit fly and returned to center point all in about 3 seconds. Tom shed several exoskeletons, his web got way more sophisticated and drops of fruit fly blood began to collect on the window sill, and now we are all very attached and unable to release him into the wild where I know he belongs. 

So, obviously, spider spirit animal. According to Trusted Psychic Mediums, spiders represent feminine energy, creativity and patience awaiting their prey. They also reference your “shadow self”, the darker aspects of your personality that you often try to repress or deny. I decide to practice opening myself to the ugly thoughts, jealousy, anger flashes, and try to weave myself a web with them, use them to attract my prey. But what is my prey? Along came a spider and sat down beside her and said, “What do you want?” 

I proprioceptive write about it. I feel like I don’t belong, all the time.  I list and describe all the ways and all the people who belong better than me. What do I mean by belong? Long for something you don’t have. An absence. Follow the longing. Where does it go? Be the longing. You are what you long for. You belong. Be what you long for. What do you hope will come into this web made of your most ugly dark thoughts?

And in this writing meditation, I realize that I long for this right now, the feeling that I’m having as I write, the feeling of “Holy shit, look what just came out of my brain.” I long for this moment of awareness, gratitude for a spider, company of a dog, understanding from a man who pulls me out of the damp cracks I crawl into, smiling awareness from my daughter as she catches my drift, warm floors, golden sparkling tree. Kale growing out of my back bones, shoulder blades reaching into the back yard with dark leafy wings. Shriveled fuchsia blossom, more beautiful in it’s withering, like my long dead neighbor Machi who grew them, still watching. Still smiling and approving, affirming me as a mother and wife. Dead people keeping watch over me. 

My recent embrace of 50 and midlife has opened up a willingness to trust myself that I didn’t used to feel. I can sometimes follow the darkness, sit down beside myself, and come out in a beautiful place. It takes quiet and space.  It’s patient, spinning a web out of whatever is inside or around me, sometimes catching joy. 

Be Scary for Halloween by Kate Poux

You know the Mayor of Halloween Town in Nightmare Before Christmas, how he has 2 sides of his head and when he freaks out his super freaked out anxious face turns to the front and his voice gets really high like “What the fuck are we gonna do now?!?” That’s sometimes how I feel about me and Laura’s Claws in Your Pause partnership. She’s the calm visionary Mayor, I’m the scary one losing my shit. I’m actually fine with that arrangement, because I think it’s important to model good melting down, and I think that by being the angry bitch I make the other angry people in the room feel like they belong. So that’s who’s blogging today. 

For starters, I’m super socially awkward lately. I showed up at a party the other night and I brought my own dinner in tupperware, to eat at the table alongside the other guests. It was a misunderstanding, but still extreme stress-induced behavior. And I made my kid so uncomfortable she ate the tupperware dinner with me. My husband invited me to a potluck with his aikido school last weekend and I sat in a chair smiling a fake smile all night, reminding myself of conversations with my grandmother in the nursing home when she couldn’t hear anymore. I’m hostile to my friends, alienating myself on purpose. To what purpose? Did the *spider tell me to do this ?(*see Spider Spirit Animal blog)

If I am alone there will be less deceit. There will be less faking it. There are important things to figure out, birth, evolve into. There are scales to tip, educational justice, safe children to raise, screen addictions to manage, marriage to keep alive, a terrorist president, civil war, a garden to foster, old age to grow into, teeth that are dying, hair that is falling out. There is so much work to be done, there isn’t time be fake. There is only time to notice the beauty, mark some joy. I find it often in my journal these days, where I can show my fat rolls, my mad face, and no one is scared away. 

I practice a new mantra. How are you doing? Mad, sad, afraid. How are you doing? Mad, sad, afraid. How are you doing? Mad, sad, afraid, selfish, ugly, incompetent, an embarrassment to my children. I tell myself to just be it. Inhabit the upside down. It’s so exhausting trying to hold it all together. Just be it, you won’t scare everyone away. It feels good. Way better than stuffing it down and pretending. BOO. Be scary. Tis the season. 

Seeking Stress.

By Laura Culberg
I recently sold my business, a yoga studio in Capitol Hill, Seattle’s busiest neighborhood. I’ve had that business for eighteen years. It  went from three employees to twenty. From one location to two locations. And back down to one location with two spaces. 

It took me a couple of years to finally decide that selling the business was what I actually wanted to do. With the influence during the last few years of things like social media, yoga for dogs, goats, babies, thousands of new teachers flooding the market every year, I decided that I didn’t want to play the game anymore. I’d lost my competitive mojo. 

I loved running that business, but during those eighteen years, I was on all the time! Even when I went on vacation I brought my laptop. I checked my emails, stayed in contact. I was always the one who got called at 5:45am when the 6am teacher forgot their keys or overslept or had a migraine. When the studio had a break in, I was the one called. When a student complained about a teacher or a teacher complained about a student, I was the mediator. I worried every month about the bottom line-- rent, payroll, taxes, inventory, supplies. I had a method to managing the madness and I had support from my staff, but I was stressed and busy all the time. I didn’t realize how utterly hijacked by stress I was until I sold the business and surrendered all of that responsibility. 

It’s been two weeks since I officially stepped down from being the owner of my business--- now someone else’s business and here’s what I notice:

• I keep waiting for something to happen.
• I’m still worried I’m forgetting to do something.
• I feel like I have somewhere I need to be.
• I still set my alarm for 6am every morning.

Here’s the thing-- I don’t have another job. I’m taking a sabbatical to write and explore and figure out what I want to do next. What I realized this morning when I was writing was that, though I've let go of the responsibilities associated with stress, my body still seems to be seeking it out. My body is searching for it, like my phone searches for wifi service at the airport, roaming around until there is a connection.

The reality is that I don’t have somewhere to be. I’m not forgetting to do something. I’m doing what I want to be doing and no one is waiting for me to do something else. But my body is still programmed for stress. It’s still searching for that connection to the familiar buzz that I get when I’m stressed. It’s weird. I notice it clearly every time it happens. I feel a little surge of adrenaline and I start to worry or check my phone. And then, almost as quickly, I realize that I’m okay. I don’t need to make that stress connection because there is no stress. It’s intense and a little disorienting. I wonder how long it will take to reprogram my body and mind, to feel fully that I have let go of that stress, that those patterned brain surges are just old habits.

Whenever I do get the call to stress and I recognize that it is not real, I feel free, elated, like I’ve won Powerball. I have a moment of celebration that I don’t have to follow that stress. Instead I can walk the dog or bake a cake or clean my desk. I didn’t realize how truly stressed I was until I became not stressed. I don’t know how long this detox will take, but I’m not worried because every time I get that after-feeling it’s like a gift, a moment to truly appreciate how grateful I am to be here now.

Hello Turtle.

By Laura Culberg
My friend Kate told me that one of the ways you can identify your spirit animal is if it appears to you frequently. For years my spirit animal has been the Great Blue Heron. Everyday when I walk on Lake Washington near my house I  make it a point to see a Great Blue Heron. Usually one just appears like she's been waiting for me, but in the last few months I've not seen herons as frequently. Last month I was feeling particularly stressed and I took a walk. I got it in my head that I would feel better if I just saw a heron. But there were no herons in the usual places. In a desperate effort to find one, I walked seven miles (3 miles more than I usually walk). I finally found a heron but my stress level did not diminish. I'd simply traded in the stress that I started with for a new stress to find a heron!

Lately on my walks I've been seeing lots of turtles. Turtles are prolific in Seward Park and I often see them but I don't usually stop and look at them. They frequently dot the rocks between my house and the park, but I usually just notice and continue walking. Today it seemed that every rock, and submerged tree I looked at had a turtle or two sitting in wait for me to notice them.

That's when it dawned on me that maybe my spirit animal has changed. When I got home from my walk I looked up the symbolism of a turtle spirit animal and learned that when a turtle spirit animal appears to you it is time to slow down. The turtle totem offers an invitation to stay focused on one's goals, but to take it slow and steady. For me, one who does most things at warp speed, this is a new approach, and a welcome invitation.

Having looked up my Turtle spirit animal definition, I needed to look up the symbolism of the Great Blue Heron to remind myself of what I might be leaving behind. The Great Blue Heron symbolizes self-determination and self-reliance. The indication for those who carry this totem is to follow their unique wisdom and path.

All day I've been thinking about the significance of this shift. For years I have been working hard to connect with my intuition, to make my own voice the strongest in forging my true path. And for most of this time the Great Blue Heron has been appearing to me.  I love the Great Blue Heron and I felt kind of sad that, for whatever reason, the Turtle now seemed to be replacing the Heron. But the truth is that at this time in my life I do feel more connected to my intuition and my path feels grounded in my own truth. Though I'm sad to leave the Heron, it makes sense that I am being visited by the Turtle-- invited to slow down, quiet down, and stop racing.

Not everyone in my life believes in the symbolism of spirit animals. I get it. It's not based in biology or psychology or physics. It's possible that spirit animals act as a kind of placebo-- offering meaning and context to a situation one is already experiencing. That works for me. The Heron and the Turtle and all the other spirit animals that visit us help connect us to the big picture, they offer explanation outside of our own heads. They remind us that there is wisdom everywhere if we look for it.