What the Turtle in my Driveway Taught Me

Learning to Stop Efforting and Start Allowing

Part 3 of a 3-part series on motherhood, spiritual growth, and the art of slowing down

In Part 1, I explore the paradox of finding freedom in not being needed. In Part 2, I shared the dramatic wake-up calls that forced me to examine my relationship with speed and urgency.

Today, I share another, more gentle spiritual breadcrumb moment—and how we can learn to move through life with more grace and less effort.

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This summer, the universe sent me a different kind of teacher.

A turtle.

The turtle in my driveway.

Right there in the middle of my suburban driveway-- rather camoflaged, as you can see in the photo above. If I hadn't been looking, I might not have seen it. But there it was, as if it had been waiting for me to notice.

I took it as another spiritual breadcrumb—a gentle nudge reminding me once again to slow down-- to resist my constant urge to do, perfect, excel, and help, and instead savor the people I love, the space I’ve created, and the fleeting beauty of summer.

Unlike the dramatic lessons of my broken ankle and near-death highway moment, this one arrived quietly, gently. Sometimes the universe shouts through crisis. Sometimes it whispers through the smallest, slowest creatures.

What the Turtle Taught Me

Turtles don't hurry. They can't. Their very design is built for steady, deliberate movement. They carry their homes with them, finding security not in speed but in the ability to retreat inward when needed. They've survived for millions of years not by adapting to the world's pace, but by maintaining their own.

Watching that turtle make its unhurried way across my driveway, I realized something profound: What if our goal isn't to keep up with life's demands, but to move through them at our own sustainable pace?

What if the answer to the question I posed in Part 1—how to find fulfillment without needing to be needed—isn't about finding new ways to be busy, but about learning to be still?

The Art of Not Efforting

To borrow wisdom from Esther Hicks, how do we stop "efforting" and simply let the spiritual breadcrumbs fall where they may? How do we allow them to show us the way, notice them when they appear, and trust enough to pick them up?

To quote Hicks, "Effort in and of itself implies resistance, so anytime effort feels required, you can be certain that there is some resistance [in the universe]."

This is perhaps the hardest lesson for those of us wired to push, achieve, and serve: the idea that we might find more fulfillment in doing less, not more. That we might discover our purpose not in being needed, but in being present.

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As I write this, I'm surrounded by Fall's first whispers—crisp air and a cool breeze that sent me inside for a blanket. I hear birds chirping and water bubbling nearby. I breathe deeply, taking in the promising aroma of leaves that hint at autumn's approach.

I still have that massive to-do list. The house still needs cleaning and organizing after my kids' summer exodus. But I'm practicing the turtle's wisdom: What if I don't have to do it all right now?

Another deep, luxurious breath as I allow that revolutionary idea:

that this beautiful moment of not being needed is actually sacred.

Moving Forward at Turtle Speed

Today, on this day of "freedom" with kids back at school, I'm choosing to maintain and embrace this peace. Instead of falling back into the codependent pattern of seeking to be needed elsewhere, I'm experimenting with something radical: being content with simply being.

The turtle knows something we forget in our speed-obsessed world. Progress isn't always about acceleration. Sometimes the fastest way forward is the slowest. Sometimes the most productive thing we can do is nothing at all.

Maybe the answer to finding fulfillment isn't about replacing the role of being needed, but about discovering the profound richness of being present—to ourselves, to this moment, to the quiet wisdom that emerges when we finally slow down enough to listen-- to look down at the driveway and see the turtle that is camouflaged there.

Your Own Turtle Wisdom

The spiritual breadcrumbs are always there, waiting for us to notice them. They might come as dramatic wake-up calls that force us to stop, or as gentle reminders in the form of unexpected visitors in our driveways. The key is developing the eyes to see them and the wisdom to heed their guidance.

What would your life look like if you moved at turtle speed? What would change if you trusted that going slower might actually get you where you need to be faster than all your efforting ever could?

The turtle is still out there somewhere, carrying its home, moving at its own perfect pace, unbothered by the world's urgency. Maybe that's the ultimate spiritual breadcrumb: the reminder that we, too, can choose our own speed.

And maybe, just maybe, when we do, we'll find that what we were rushing toward was here all along.

This concludes my 3-part series on motherhood, spiritual growth, and the art of slowing down. If you missed the earlier parts, start with Part 1: The Beautiful Paradox of Not Being Needed →

What spiritual breadcrumbs have shown up in your life recently? How are you learning to balance the desire to be needed with the peace of simply being? I'd love to continue this conversation in the comments below.