Imagine, if you will, a scenario where everything seems utterly hopeless. Maybe you’ve felt like this before. Maybe you’re going through something similar right now. There is darkness surrounding you. You are buried by fear and anxiety. There is no guarantee that things will get better. In fact, they could get worse.
But somewhere deep inside, there is an instinctual will to survive — a will that urges you forward, at all costs, forcing you to push against the weight of the unknown holding you down. You find your fight and begin to dig your way out.
A natural phenomenon occurs each year along the coasts of the world. After migrating hundreds — even thousands — of miles per year, mother sea turtles somehow find their way back to the beaches where they were hatched and lay their eggs.
After about 60 days of incubation, these baby turtles break free of their shells. Buried under 12 to 24 inches of sand, it is next to impossible for a single turtle to make it out alone. Rather, according to the website conserveturtles.org, “as hatchlings break free from their shell inside the egg chamber, they stimulate other hatchlings to emerge from their eggs too. Once most hatchlings have emerged from their shells, they climb on top of the discarded eggshells to propel themselves to the top of the chamber.”
Once out of their nesting hole, the turtles make the long, treacherous trek to the ocean. Predators of all kinds lurk in the shadows, ready to snatch the exhausted turtles that have only just freed themselves moments ago.
How do they do it? How do they find their way to water, to their new home?
It’s the light. There is something about the light on the horizon of the ocean, the reflection of the soft moon upon the white foamy waves that becomes a guide for the turtles. They become fixated upon this light, and move faster toward safety.
But the trial doesn’t end there. The small number of turtles that make it out of the nest, across the beach and into the ocean are now forced to face the crashing waves, quickly learn the mechanics of swimming and avoid other predators in the water. According to discovery.com, it is estimated that only around 1 to 3 percent of hatchlings actually make it to adulthood.
On a recent trip to Mexico, my in-laws had the incredible opportunity to be eyewitnesses to the almost impossible journey of baby sea turtles struggling to make it to their ocean home. There is a sea turtle conservatory in San Francisco (or “San Pancho”), Mexico that helps rescue and release two types of sea turtles, the Olive Ridley and leatherback species. These “hatcheries” help protect the turtles and increase their survival rate.
“Because it was so dark the night we went to watch the turtles be released, we used the flashlights on our cellphones as a guiding light for them,” my mother-in-law, Jeanette Herbert, said. “They kept getting turned around and confused when they couldn’t see the light. But once they were closer to the ocean and could make out the white foam of the waves, it was like they redoubled their efforts. They just crawled faster and faster toward the sea.”
Some days I wake up and I am almost paralyzed with worry. I don’t know what’s going to happen the next day. I don’t know what trials are ahead of me. And that is terrifying.
Some days I am overcome with the everyday challenges of just surviving life. It can be as dark as watching a loved one fight cancer, or as simple as worrying about finishing all my tasks that seem to roll over from one day to the next, burying me with stress and feelings of inadequacy.
But when I think of the tenacity of the little sea turtle — abandoned by its mother, buried alive, forced to be a fighter from the moment it emerges from its hard, confining shell, facing treacherous waters and unseen dangers head-on — I think, Why not me? There is a chance things will go wrong. There is a chance I could get turned around and confused on my way back home.
But I know we weren’t born to be restricted by our shells, or buried with fear, or stay surrounded by darkness. We were born with light and with the innate instinct to let light guide us.
It is that light that keeps us fighting. It is that light that keeps hope alive.
Carmen Rasmusen Herbert is a former "American Idol" contestant who writes about entertainment and family for the Deseret News.