Shedding
"Friends behind their fences ~ Looking at me strange." John Mayer
There is a legend told by the Melanesians of the New Hebrides that in the time before written words humans lived forever. We accomplished this feat by shedding our human skin and emerging with a new youthful appearance.
Unfortunately, as is oft the case with legends, this superpower did not last. The story, as recounted by Sir James Fraser, is that one day an old woman knowing it was her time, went down to the river as was the custom and shed her old skin to emerge youthful and renewed. As her skin was floating away, she noticed that it got caught in the current on a reed.
When she returned to the village, she was surprised that everyone she encountered treated her as a stranger and an outsider. Even her own child was frightened and refused to recognize her mother in this renewed version of herself. So, as the story goes, wanting to placate her child’s fears she went back to the river, retrieved her skin from the reed and put it back on. After that humans were no longer immortal because we forgot the ways of shedding.
When I first read this story in Mark Nepo’s Book of Awakening I didn’t catch the fact that while the woman in the story was described as old, she still had a young child that was frightened by her mother’s changed appearance. At best then she must have been no older than fifty. This seems quite fitting that mythologically shedding time would be at middle age. Before now we are collecting parts of ourselves - roles and ways of being - experiences and accolades. We’re too busy discovering who we are to stop and ask if the personae we’ve been cultivating is who we authentically are or aspire to be.
Then midlife hits. It’s different for everyone - maybe we’re passed over for a promotion for someone younger and hungrier. Maybe we get a divorce or have a health scare. Something demands we pause and look at the weight of the life we are carrying. It’s not unlike moving house where you are finally forced to confront your junk drawer or the ugly scarf from Aunt Martha. Am I really going to pack this stuff up and move it to another location? And yet, change is hard.
In my previous post about the life and untimely death of Flaco the owl, I looked at the how hard it can be for us to get out of our comfortable enclosures and risk the wilds that change demands. What I didn’t look at was how hard it can be to make changes when those we care about are invested in us staying the same. “What do you mean you aren’t going to volunteer for (fill in the blank) this year? We counted on you being part of the committee.” “What do you mean you want to carve out time to work on your art instead of going to see your mother every Sunday.”
Quitting a job. Moving. Saying No. Charging for your time. Making yourself a priority. Creating art. These are radical acts of skin shedding that can be hard when our kids, partners, colleagues, or friends still want us to be the older version of ourselves. We make it so damn easy for them! Why would they want us to change?
None of us want to relate to the woman in the legend - we like to think of ourselves as stronger than her. Yet how many times have I squelched what I really wanted to do or say to avoid feeling uncomfortable because of someone else’s disappointment. I can relate to the woman’s fear. Her desire to run back to get her old comfortable skin.
Risking being a new version of ourselves demands protection. If you’ve ever had a burn once the dead skin peels and the new pale skin emerges it is extremely raw and tender. It turns out to be the same for snakes as well. “The snake is often quite irritable up to a week before shedding and may refuse to eat and is more prone to strike. The snake’s new skin after the shed is incompletely formed and tender.”1
We can’t do it alone. “We’re born with a need for attachment and a need for authenticity,” psychiatrist Gabor Maté explains in his book The Myth of Normal. “Most people abandon their true selves (authenticity) to please others and keep the relationships (attachments), even if they are ones that are toxic and destructive.” What we need during these times of shedding are others that can show us that we won’t be abandoned by reclaiming our authentic selves. We need to surround ourselves with: Cheerleaders, not critics; Optimists, not worry warts; A safe tribe to stand guard around our vulnerable new self until it has the strength to endure the stings of other’s disapproval; and perhaps if you’re very lucky other people that have gone before you that will beckon you to come out of your cage and fly.
https://aeacarizona.com/Skin_Shedding_in_Snakes_AEAC.pdf
Flaco probably knew Steven Hawking…
I love your writing. I went back and reread your piece about Flaco and the deliberations between safe and unsafe bets in our lives.
Flaco experienced a catalyst in his life (he was freed from his cage) and was suddenly at the crossroads - leave or stay. Flaco chose option A and got the flock outta dodge. But given what we know in hindsight, was it the right decision? It’s luxurious to ponder all the whatifs…
What if in one universe Flaco never left his cage and was stricken a few months later with a nasty avian flu. He later dies in a vet’s lab cage and that was the end of Flaco.
Or maybe in another universe they introduced a Eurasian Eagle Owl of the opposite sex and what then ensues is a mad Eurasian Eagle Owl love affair that keeps the tabloids hopping for the next few months. Freedom not immediately missed.
Who knew what universe the restless Flaco was to end up in. For that matter, who knows what universe any of us fall into.
Flaco was a hunting bird and lived for what he was built for; flying and hunting. Cage door open, and he was gone, baby, gone. He probably didn’t consider a missed chance at meeting Ms. Flaco and certainly didn’t worry about catching the flu somewhere on a remote branch in Central Park. He just did what he was built to do.
As a “thinking” species, we try to reason our way to successful outcomes. “Ohhh I’d really like to do this, but wait, what about THAT… “. Some of this reasoning goes a long way (which is likely why I didn’t end up a jailed smuggler), but some of the deliberation between the safe and unsafe ends up as extraneous noise laced with hubris. We can’t know what universe we’ll end up in - in the end.
Flaco crashed and burned against the side of a Manhattan building doing what he was made to do, likely oblivious to safe bets and universes. Likewise, some of us are not made to live by safe decisions, but instead prefer to fling the door open and chase the fantastic. Not so much ignoring what consequences our direction might bring, but instead trusting that we can’t possibly know the universe before us. We do what we were built to do.
Oh, and Flaco likely didn’t lose too much sleep over what his animal friends thought about him leaving.
Loved this! Encouraging on so many levels! Thank you for taking time to nourish and enrich my life with your thoughts and your humor!