I loved the zoo when I was a kid, before the question of animal ethics shredded the sense of wonder as if mauled by a resentful tiger. I enjoyed watching the penguins wobble around an island made of plaster and polish the faux stone slide with their bellies before splashing in the surrounding moat. My dad, on the other hand, had a peculiar fascination with the nocturnal exhibit—an agenda that inevitably eclipsed my poolside attraction.
I didn’t appreciate the nocturnal exhibit nor did I care to gawk at the creatures in it—not like my dad did anyway. It’s not that the tarantulas (or bazillion other arachnids), bats, or crocodiles scared me. They didn’t. My dad’s Hobbit imitation was far more terrifying in the dark than any of those critters. But the exhibit itself was uncomfortable: it was hot, and noisier than I gave the collection of its inhabitants credit. In fact, I think the zoo piped in a nocturnal soundtrack recorded in some tropical, insect-infested place. I have to admit, however, aside from my dad’s Hobbit voice, the ghostly translucent skin shed and hovering in the snake aquariums kind of creeped me out.
But scrunching my nose at such a natural thing seems an inappropriate response. Snakes, for example, can slough their skin several times each year. Creatures throughout the animal kingdom shed, slough, or molt what no longer serves them. Hermit crabs trade shells. You might think the shell of a hermit more obscure in meaning until considering the shell is what makes the hermit whole—and leaving one house for another is bold, yes, but necessary for growth. Birds can molt up to twice per year depending on the species. The human body, regardless our effort (or lack of) regenerates its cells in roughly seven-year cycles. So why judge nature?
As cognitive beings we have the opportunity to speed our regenerative process by addressing the things that impede our progress. We all have an agenda—whether it’s owning a house, earning a PhD, or dragging your daughter through the nocturnal house. But just as time alters our height—and waistband—it mutates our desires too. Things that were once useful, appliances you couldn’t live without (like that juicer you used twice, by the way, I’m interested), become useless and end up occupying cupboard, not to mention mental, space. Ironically, intangible items such as beliefs and habits create the biggest obstacles on our road to personal discovery.
If you’re like me, you may be feeling a wee-bit reluctant to drop your shell and parade naked down Main Street in trail of your latest passion. But nothing says committed like a bare heinie. I’ve decided to shed some major skin in order to attend Pacific University this fall. That plywood I’ve been saving, the belief that I’m not talented enough … my house … I’m shedding them all. But just like the snake skins, it still kind of creeps me out.
Please let us know what you’re ready to shed in the comment section below.
* If you’re interested in a beautiful Central Oregon townhouse click on this link, right, here. Remember, I’m taking that juicer off your hands.
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