We’re Turtles
Art: By Maddi
My daughter said we’re turtles.
She wasn’t joking. She meant it seriously. She loves turtles - has for years. She draws them, reads about them, watches documentaries, knows their species. She even wrote a book. When she says something about turtles, she’s not being cute. She’s being specific.
She told me that Master Oogway from Kung Fu Panda reminds her of me.
And Shifu too, though that one felt like a stretch. Or maybe a warning. I wasn’t sure.
Anyway, I took the compliment.
She then told me a story, one I’d heard before, but hadn’t thought about in years. The old parable of the frog in the well.
If you’re unfamiliar, here it is in one line:
A frog lives in a well and thinks that’s the whole world. One day, a turtle from the ocean shows up and tries to explain how vast the sea is. But the frog can’t understand. His world is the well. He has no reference point for anything bigger.
It’s an old story. Ancient, really. The kind that shows up across cultures.
But hearing it from Maddi reframed the whole thing.
Because after telling it, Maddi said,
Pun, most definitely intended.
And just like that, she moved on.
I didn’t.
I kept thinking about it. About frogs. About wells. About how many times I’ve lived that moment; met someone who couldn’t imagine anything beyond their frame of reference. Who assumed the well was everything. Who looked at you like you were the strange one for even suggesting there’s something else.
There’s no arrogance in what Maddi said. It wasn’t about being better. It was about being aware.
And being okay when others aren’t.
She didn’t say it, but the message was clear:
You can’t drag people out of the well.
You can’t force someone to see the sea.
I’ve lived in different places. Moved through different social circles. Switched industries. Walked into rooms I wasn’t supposed to be in, and walked out of others by choice. That gives you range. And when you have range, you notice things other people miss. You see the walls they build without knowing it. You recognize when someone’s speaking from the bottom of the well.
Sometimes it’s cultural.
Sometimes it’s just comfort.
Whatever the reason, the effect is the same: the world shrinks.
You stop asking questions. You stop exploring. You stay where it’s safe.
But turtles? We keep moving. Slowly, maybe. But forward.
We don’t force. We don’t explain endlessly.
We know what we’ve seen, and we carry it with us.
Maddi’s right. We’re turtles.
Not because we’re wiser. Not because we know better.
But because we’ve seen the ocean, and once you’ve seen it, you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.
You stop trying to fit into the well.
And when you meet someone who still lives there?
You smile, say “oh well”, and keep swimming.
Or maybe it's because grew up in the Caribbean.
The ocean isn’t a metaphor to me. It’s real. It’s everywhere.
It taught me early: the world is wide, deep, and alive.
That’s something you never forget.