The Work of Tortoises
Today we moved our son’s tortoise outside from a small glass enclosure that we had been keeping in his room. I hadn’t realized how knotted Leo the Tortoise’s shell had become. He had grown without me, me not noticing because he had been hiding away in shadows and little tortoise cubbies that you buy at Petsmart. My only glance as I tossed collard greens inside his habitat was to ensure proof of life. At first, when we took him out of his enclosure for relocation, he looked distorted to me, and I felt badly for him, my stomach knotting a bit. Then I realized he was just growing. He was doing what he was supposed to do and he hadn’t needed me to be watchful over him.
He went from a super small enclosure to a giant garden bed in our backyard, full of lush plants and extra dirt for burrowing and traversing. We had a camera on him to track his movements because he was my guy and this was his first night out of the house. Silly, I know. When I checked him in the middle of the night, he had scooted over to the far side of the corner even though there was so much space for him to walk around. I guess sometimes when you grow you’re not sure what to do with new space.
And in a lot of ways that reminds me of how my husband came home from the war, his shell was harder and I felt sorry for him because he looked distorted and he had grown but wasn’t used to all this new space. He stayed in his corner for a long time, and I finally learned not to keep checking in on him just like I was still checking up on Leo the tortoise. You just have to let people stay in their corner as long as they need to and just remind them that you’ll be there when they start to venture around again. Growth happens without my vigilant attention.
Here’s what I’ll say about tortoises. The work of tortoises is never done. They carry the weight of existence, each step a testament to resilience. Tortoises can’t leave their shells; and we cannot leave our stories. Our stories are both our identity and armor. The work of tortoises, much like our own, unfolds in the quiet persistence of time. And it is never done. It unfolds slowly in our time. And it’s okay to be slow.
Jennie Blair has had the privilege of being with Arizona State University (ASU) for over 27 years, beginning her journey as a student worker and earning degrees in English Literature and Higher Education. Presently, she supports Academic Enterprise Enrollment as Director of Enrollment Services for the Downtown Phoenix, West Valley, and Polytechnic campuses as well as ASU California Center in Los Angeles. Both of her sons also attend ASU. Additionally, her role as a military spouse has deepened her perspectives, supporting her husband Jack through his Navy service, his work at the Pat Tillman Veterans Center (where they met and fell in love), and his time with the Army Reserves, including deployments to Afghanistan.
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