“I would go back whenever there was empty time, go back and just sit there and watch,” she says. “Not like he moved around so much,” she laughs. But just watching the slow crawl of an ancient creature, one of the world’s rarest, his wrinkly skin, and really long neck, “I thought he was adorable.”
Someone reached my site with the search: “Should I Lie about My Failure in School?” Most likely Google found The Tortoise because of the posts on failure in Ph.D. School. I assume this is not about high school failure. Even if it is. lying will catch up to one — especially to one with a conscience which you obviously have.
I am not an ethicist or counselor, so all I can do is speak as an individual whose been through part it. First of all, failure in grad school is nothing to be ashamed of unless you spent too much time drinking and partying. Even in that case, what is done is done. If you gave your all to the effort, then no apology to anyone is necessary. There are just too many other factors involved in failure: level of experience and self-understanding at the time, the nature of the experience itself, quality of guidance you had and just the human ability to make bad choices — even self-delusion.
Grow with it. Grad school is an option and a choice. To wash out of Naval flight school, as another example, doesn’t define a person’s ultimate worth, nor does failure to pass the bar exam. To have sought what you believed was a star and not to have found it, is no sin and maybe not even a mistake. You made a choice, took some chances and something happened — end of story. In the end you were trying to get on, right? You tried what many others would not even have attempted.
You may be worried about the resume and interview stuff. Don’t ever use a fraudulent resume. As for the interview, be honest here too. You do not have to beat your breast confessing. Chances are the interviewer won’t understand any field other than her own. No, come to terms with yourself first and be honest. Explain the experience and what you learned from failure. That takes guts. Who knows? Maybe you still want that degree and can go back and try again. Some employer might see an unfulfilled passion there just waiting on more experience and wisdom. Maybe that employer will offer you the chance. Sometimes we try stuff before we are ready for full success. We pop the wine before its time. If you’re seeking an alternative career in which the failed credentialing does not apply, it will not matter.
Finally, you are probably drowning in regrets about what might have been and kicking yourself. Don’t give yourself another bludgeon for self-punishment — like guilt over lying.
Steadfast and cautious,
“Giant tortoises have an interesting way of ridding themselves of ticks and other parasites . . . ” [See under “Behaviour”]. More . . .
A giant tortoise which helped shape Darwin’s ideas about evolution and was thought to have been extinct for 150 years may be living a secret life in the Galapagos Islands. More . . .
New York: Grenfell Press, 1991.
Illustrated by Gregory Amenoff, Joe Andoe, James Brown, Vija Celmins, Louisa Chase, Eric Fischl, Jan Hashey, Michael Hurson, Mel Kendrick, James Nares, Ellen Phelan, Joel Shapiro, Kiki Smith, David Storey, Michelle Stuart, Richard Tuttle, Trevor Winkfield, and Robin Winters.
This collection of thirty-six original fables and prose poems, each of them centered on a different animal, began as a whimsical writing exercise whose sole goal was to entertain the author and his friends. From the whale to the skunk, the mongoose to the tortoise and hare, and even bringing to the page less obvious “beasts” such as plankton, anemones, and a monkey prince—the book soon developed into a full-fledged menagerie of tales including everything from a creation myth to a meditation on death . . .
SARASOTA, Fla. — Johnny the sea turtle has traveled more than many people do. But the journey that took him from the Gulf of Mexico to Europe and back isn’t over yet.
The 68-pound, rare Kemp’s ridley turtle was released into the Gulf on Tuesday morning near Sarasota. About 300 people stood on the beach to bid Johnny farewell as he swam off into the surf off Lido Key.
“The two plants tell a complex story of what happens when regulations written in Washington ripple through the real economy. Some jobs are lost. Others are created. In the end, say economists who have studied this question, the overall impact on employment is minimal.” http://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/does-government-regulation-really-kill-jobs-economists-say-overall-effect-minimal/2011/10/19/gIQALRF5IN_story.html
I simply cannot let this article go by without sending it out of my hide. I am the Tortoise and I have a very special interest in where I live, breathe and crawl about. At the same time I don’t want jobs to disappear for folks who care about me. Good reading at the above link for an objective view — well, I think so.
Steadfast and cautious,
D. “Tortoise” Taylor
Just around noon a tortoise and a writer met along a creek bordering a meadow. The tortoise had felt the writer’s presence from the vibrations of heavy foot steps. The tortoise, hidden as well as possible near rocks and bushes, quickly pulled his tail and legs into his shell and his head, too; except that he left just enough of a gap to spy on the intruder. He noticed when the writer caught sight of him, slowed his pace and quickly acted as though he hadn’t seen the tortoise. Then the human sat on a rock, pretending to ignore the tortoise. He began unwrapping a sandwich and opened his water bottle. Tortoise watched, waited and determined the vibrations to be friendly. Slowly his head, limbs and tail emerged.
“What are you eating?” said the tortoise.
“Good, one of my forebears had a bad experience with flying geese, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” said the writer. ” The geese dropped him mid-air. Splat.”
“Not very sensitive on your part, but yes, he died. But you got the story wrong.”
“No, I know the story. The tortoise should have kept his mouth shut even though the humans jeered and mocked him. It wasn’t the geese’s fault. The tortoise couldn’t take the ridicule. Everyone knows that.”
“He was angry, just trying to save some pride. We have as much right to pride as any human. ”
“Why bother? There’s nothing wrong with a little humility. It just is. Humbling passes and besides, humility can be the start of new experience if you apply a little effort. You have to do something with humility. Humility comes before meaning.”
“That sandwich smells good.”
“You’re an herbivore.”
“You’re misinformed. Who are you anyway?”
“I’m a writer, an absurdist.”
“What does that mean?”
” An absurdist doesn’t believe life has any inherent meaning.”
“I mean that life has no essential meaning.”
“I don’t understand you. I can’t ask such a question, let alone answer it,” responded the tortoise. I just eat, poop, pee and procreate. I bask in sun and rain alike. Oh, I hold on to life for dear life, but I know there’s an end. I’ve seen tortoises die — sad vibes when life is over, like one day the light never comes. In the meantime I enjoy a warm flat rock in the sun. I fight for as much of these things as I can.”
“What do you do for meaning, Tortoise?”
“I can’t do for meaning, don’t you see. I do for doing. I’ve tried to tell you that. I like pleasant scenes, especially in the meadow, but that’s a risky trip to the meadow. I go anyway. I’m cautious in the meadow — and watchful. Good vibes give me pleasure. Simple stuff satisfies me, but you’d have trouble sharing my vibes. Vibes are tough to communicate to a human. We could rub each other’s neck, I suppose.”
“I have good vibes right now — about you I mean. Put your finger just below my head.”
“Well, okay.” The writer put his fingers on Tortoise’s neck. “Hmmm, hmmmmmmmmmm! Feels good. I can’t get any meaning from it.”
“Isn’t feeling good enough,” said Tortoise. What’s this “meaning?” You got pleasure, didn’t you? I like to be stroked by a human. That’s the best I can do for you, but I don’t want to go home with you and be your pet. I like being a wild tortoise. You’d know if I sensed you were bad, believe me. I don’t get bad vibes from you.”
“Get off it. Bad vibes make me uncomfortable, wary, defensive. Worse case, bad vibes would tell me if you were more interested in turning me into soup than enjoying my company. I can be a companion, not like a dog, but I can be your friend.”
“Just pulling into your shell wouldn’t stop me from killing you.”
“Sure, you’re the dominant dude in these parts. . . Yikes! There’s more humans headed this way from up the path. I’m not getting good vibes at all. Excuse me, my friend, while I sljp this mobile home into the brush here. Keep those folks busy, okay?” Whereupon the tortoise crawled back into the brush. The writer rose and walked toward the strangers.
He noticed that the men carried fish nets, clubs, fishing poles and tackle boxes. Their eyes scanned the water and creek bank. One of them waved at him. Quickly the writer emerged from the brush and faked fiddling with his fly and said,”Hi, men, caught me in the act of nature. What are ya fishin’ for.”
“Catfish here in the stream and snappin’ turtles if we can find ’em.”
“Not a fisherman myself.” He glanced carefully back at the bushes while he closed his zipper and noticed the dark, brownish rump of the tortoise mostly concealed in the bush and was amazed at how much like a rock he looked. He walked closer to the fishers knowing they’d love to club a large tortoise. Without being obvious he tried to obstruct their view of the tortoise posing as a rock behind him. After more pleasantries the fishers moved on. The writer walked the opposite direction up the path, long enough for the men to disappear; and then he returned to the tortoise. He was still tucked inside his shell. He spoke to the tortoise, but heard no reply, nor did he come out of his shell.
For some time, perhaps an hour, the writer waited, speaking occasionally to the inert lump before him. He sat on the tortoise and felt the same vibrations as when he’d stroked his neck, only more intensely. He thought long and deep about this accidental event in his life.
The writer struggled in his head for the meaning of what had happened. The vibrations from Tortoise, like a purring cat told him he was quite content. In the end the writer decided that the only meaning he could bring to this happening was the pleasure of fooling men with nets and clubs. Acting to help a threatened, humble creature can be a good adventure.
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Text: Dear Friend: — If I was sure of thee, sure of thy capacity, sure to match my mood with thine, I would never think again of trifles in relation to thy comings and goings. I am not very wise; my moods are quite attainable; and I respect thy genius; it is to me as yet unfathomed; yet dare I not presume in thee a perfect intelligence of me, and so thou art to me a delicious torment. Thine ever or never.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1841
In a crass, profane age of advanced species endangerment, global warming, 16% real unemployment and constant threat of economic collapse worldwide, surety is indeed a rare and precious commodity. Paralyzed leadership and dysfunctional government clouds our hope even more. My best friend tells me this quotation will be unfathomed by at least 90% of the American public; alas, she may be correct — judging from our current cultural mess. Nineteenth-century prose and syntax puts us off and tries our patience in the digital age. And yet, who doesn’t still need a friend.
In his essay Emerson cautions the reader that “these fine pains” in regard to friendship are for curiosity, not for life. We should not indulge these high-minded notions lest we “weave cobwebs and not cloth.” Emerson was an idealist but he knew the place of idealism: — examining the conduct of life against an ideal. In the Twentieth Century JFK”s New Frontier and Johnson’s War on Poverty come to mind as examples of idealism’s limits. Another contrast is the inspiring rhetoric of JFK contrasted to the plain-spoken realism of Harry Truman. We are sadly lacking in both these days.
Assuming that sure people make sure leaders, I want surety not only in my leaders but in my friends. When I see a potential friend approaching, I am immediately cautious, guarded, ready at any moment to withdraw my head back under my shell. However, I also want to stick my neck out, take a risk with a new acquaintance in the hope that some bond may be built between us. I want surety in my friend
I do not claim to be all wise. I try not to be dogmatic despite apparent evidence that may challenge my set beliefs. I often fail in this. My beliefs do not go willingly into doubt and then into renaissance. As a true liberal I have a little dogma myself, but I am not worthy of liberal mindedness if I don’t try to know my own prejudices. I’ve got blind spots in my vision as do all men and women. I must keep an open mind, for example that libertarians and conservatives can be right. I must at least entertain the possibility that Michelle Bachman can harbor a thought worth considering. And she and anyone, politician or not, must have the same openness to me — if America is to succeed. I expect a friend to listen.
Regarding “perfect intelligence” of another, I don’t possess it. I have no radar or sonar that can reveal the truth to me about a potential friend approaching me. Late at night in the middle of the Pacific when my ship steamed alone in unlimited acres of water, we came across other ships. Depending upon whether the blip “closed” us or seemed intent on its own course, we in the radar shack were more or less curious. At some point we could use IFF or identification friend or foe. If the contact responded with the correct code, we were assured of a bogey and not a skunk. Human beings apply the same technique when they take fine pains. Trifles indeed can be excellent warnings if they are confirmed. The more trifling thoughts we can dismiss regarding another, the greater the potential of safe passage or encounter in the darkness. Without this process, we are naive sitting ducks. We must presume in others the same intelligent facility of us. Thus begins the delicious torment. The mutual sniffing begins.
Unfortunately we often refuse even to sniff around, to check each other out, to even participate in trying to understand another person and his opinion. It is quite unnatural to behave this way. Animals instiinctively perform this ritual that ends up in coitus, play or battle.
We no longer quite understand genius as the spirit of a person or a place. We think of it as bright IQ. Nothing can be more unfathomable to one person than the spirit, largely intangible and powerful, of another. Truthfully we do not fully understand our own spirit, our own genius, but it remains our essence. The best we can do with the genius of a friend is to love it, to befriend it without question. Of course, we must have decided it is a genius worth respecting. More often than not, liking a friend will be non-rational if not irrational.
All of this goes on whether we have a personal agenda or not. So when Emerson says, “Thine ever or never,” he means “I apprehend your genius and I determine that it is good and at least compatible with my own which you must also see in me. When we do this we cease to make of our friendship “a texture of wine and dreams.” Instead we weave “the tough fibre of the human heart.” And he adds, “The laws of friendship are austere and eternal.”
“Twitting” and “friending” on the Internet are nothing more than the sniffing when two dogs meet — assuming we don’t leap into a bad deal. Children and young kids are incredibly vulnerable to predators because they don’t understand the virtues of coyness, camouflage, watching the back trail, reserve. playing hard to get, checking things out, even those trifling thoughts.
Steadfast and cautious,
The Feds want to save $125 per year and 8hrs of work by taking down this site. Get real! One hundred and twenty-five dollars! Talk about a tortoise pace to cut trillions, this is it.
Do what you can, if all you do is visit the site.
Steadfast and Cautious,