Hermit crabs had a big moment at the turn of the millennium. Or, at least they did for me as a budding tween. As far as I could tell, they were often motionless, but oh the thrill to watch one scurry across the sand in their tank. Once, in an overindulgent moment, I tried to play with a hermit crab and a beanie baby at the same time. It ended in a mishap that led the hermit crab to lock his claw onto my index finger, pinched in a death grip for hours. Or at least that’s how it felt to a budding tween. Honestly, it was probably only a few minutes. Time felt different in adolescence.
As I tended to my hermit crabs, I learned they needed to have different size shells scattered throughout their habitat. As they would grow, they would need to leave a shell that had become too tight and stifling in favor of a roomier fit. If they remained in that old shell, they would die. In the process of shedding the old shell, they become completely defenseless and nude for a time before situating into their new, larger shell. Molting is one of the most vulnerable processes an animal can go through. They enter a liminal space of stillness and waiting.
It’s a metaphor I’ve been chewing on this week as I ponder personal shifts out of old homes and into new ones. I'm in the process of selling the first home I've ever owned and it's set to close any day. I really struggled with the idea of letting it go earlier in the summer. I cried, I tenderly stroked the walls, senseless things, really... but I couldn't imagine parting with it. I was feeling like a little hermit crab in between shells.
Meanwhile, a similar living metaphor is happening before our eyes: the autumn leaves are falling. Brilliant shades from mustard to tangerine to flaming crimson hang on to their twigs, but just barely. Many of their brethren have already fallen to the ground. Because water expands when frozen, tender leaf cells on deciduous trees would rupture if they remained on the tree and be incapable of photosynthesis. Without shedding the leaves, such a tree would be stuck with thousands of unproductive appendages and no way to make food. Attached as we may feel to something, what good does it do us if it could stand between us and survival?
I'm very close to completing my Master's degree in clinical mental health counseling. This path came to me unexpectedly. But now that I'm here, I can't imagine much else that would better suit me. It's been quite the adventure returning to university in my 30s. Receiving higher education is such a privilege that's hard to appreciate as a teenager. In light of that, I'm a little sad to see it come to an end. Simultaneously, I'm relieved to be returning to the workplace. I, like the deciduous tree, have needs to be productive. I'm embracing the duality of both feelings.
So you see, just as the hermit crab sheds it shell, and just as the maple tree releases its golden leaves, we too jettison aspects of ourselves. This is tough stuff, and I offer no short cuts or wise advise. The only way out is through. We simply honor the grief of change and the promise of a tomorrow that is as satisfying as the goodness of today.