106. Sea Turtle

Producer Megan Palmer shares how seeing one friendly creature helped her adjust to a new environment.

Transcripts may not appear in their final version and are subject to change.

---

INTRO MUSIC

I’m Megan Palmer, and it’s going to be okay.

I was 20 years old when the pandemic shut the world down in early 2020. Quarantine found me during the most exciting time of my life. I was a junior in college, studying abroad in Ecuador with some of my best friends. I had all these plans to travel and learn and work and celebrate my youth and my impending graduation. But instead we were sent home, rightfully, to kick off what would become a year and a half of online classes, isolation from friends and peers, and a very subdued senior year.

The remainder of college was hard to navigate amidst the uncertainty of everything. I ended up latching on too tightly to a partner who would end up gifting me my worst heartbreak to date. I was seized with panic that my youth was slipping out from under me. I missed competing with my collegiate synchronized swimming team. I even questioned my longest held dream — to serve in the Peace Corps after graduation.

Was that even what I wanted anymore? To start a new life somewhere incredibly remote? I felt suffocated by isolation already, I couldn’t imagine stomaching two years of intentional seclusion. And by the time I graduated in the spring, the Peace Corps wasn’t sending people out yet anyway.

I spent a lot of my first year post-graduation stumbling through my days, unsure of how to process my emotions and my life. All I knew is that I wanted to travel. It’s what I loved dearly and craved most of all. That was why I was originally interested in the Peace Corps — a love for other cultures, languages, and seeking out brand new experiences. I missed it all terribly.

Finally, in spring of last year, I stumbled into the most luck I’ve ever had. I was put in contact with one of my synchro coaches from high school. She moved to the Cayman Islands years ago, and started the first synchro program there. Her fellow coach was about to go on maternity leave, and she needed help in the interim — did I want the job?

I felt my soul leap out of my throat when she told me that. I was itching for a way to leave Minneapolis, and here it was, doing something I loved and missed deeply. I immediately said yes, with plans to move down in September.

My last summer melted away quickly. Leaving was difficult, but not impossible. I waved goodbye to my friends through tears at the airport, but I felt steady, confident that I was making the right decision. If it wasn’t, I could always make another decision.

And like any good audio producer, I even captured myself saying as much.

[TAPE FROM VOICE MEMOS] Megan: [00:05:30] Every bend in my life has been such a sweet surprise. And even the most painful ones have brought me about truly to a deep, great joy because it’s redirected me towards the people and things that that do care for me and do wish the best for me. I mean, how crazy is that? How crazy is that? So I’m so lucky. [00:06:10][39.7]

When the plane touched down in Cayman later that day, the sun was boiling. We were led out to stairs that brought us right down to the tarmac — my first small sign that I was already in a new country. I got through customs and immigration in a haze. I was greeted by my old coach when I got to the pool. I was ushered through a lot of meet and greets that day before being deposited at the home of the swim family who I would be staying with for my first few months.

Everyone was beyond generous and kind and understanding, and yet when I laid in my new bed after showering, I felt like I was in freefall. I moved from a city I knew inside and out and a social scene I felt on top of, to a country I had done very little research on.

My days were full of learning and meeting the almost a hundred kids I was coaching and their families. I was figuring out the pool I was working at and my coworkers. I was pushed out of my comfort zone constantly, and while it was thrilling, I was so doubtful that I was good enough — that I was worth the risk the aquatic club took on hiring me. I questioned myself constantly throughout the day, anxious about appearing incompetent or unsure. In a way, I had traded the restlessness of feeling stagnant in Minneapolis for the anxiety that is almost guaranteed when you make a move this big.

When my first Sunday in Cayman came around, my first day off, I didn’t have a plan for what to do. I had met some people, but didn’t feel confident or comfortable enough to reach out and make plans. And I didn’t want to languish in my room. So I grabbed a bag, chucked a random book and my snorkel mask in it, and I wandered.

I walked from the house past a golf course, grocery store, shopping district, and pedestrian bridge, until I met the sea. It was calm and turquoise, gently lapping at the edge of the sand — a blanket that the island pulled up under its chin. I dropped my tote bag and shimmied out of my shorts and tshirt until I stood on the sand in my swimsuit and faced the blue. I feel most like myself when I’m near water. It probably has something to do with the fact that I’m Minnesotan, a Pisces, and have swam since I was a toddler. So I did what always felt most natural — I grabbed my goggles and dove.

[TAPE OF THE SEA FROM VOICE MEMOS]

I spent the next half hour goofing off — diving deep and skimming the bottom like a dolphin. Sticking my legs in the air and doing synchro moves I hadn’t attempted in months. Testing my lung capacity to see how long I could stay under. I moved alongside any fish I saw, following them, seeing what their day looked like. I’ve always had trouble spending time by myself, but I felt the most serene I had all week just by having this time on my own with the other sea creatures.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, I saw a turtle. He moved calmly and gently, moving his fins every so slightly to propel himself where he pleased. I caught his eye, and we stared at each other, for what felt like forever. As we did, a warmth spread through my chest, out into my fingertips, up my spine. I smiled a huge dopey grin, water rushing in between my teeth. I couldn’t help it. I felt utterly tethered to this turtle, like our souls saw each other. I felt like he was giving me permission to relax, to trust myself, to give myself time to see what this life could be. I felt like I could figure everything out. We were just two creatures out for a day in the water. Nowhere else to be.

I followed him for a while, until he made it clear he was headed out to deeper water. I stared hard as he swam away, never wanting to forget the image of him.

That brief, strange interaction buoyed me through lots of questions in my first few months. It remained a north star for me when I felt immense fatigue from work, stress from family issues, doubts about my longevity in this new country. But through it all, I’ve learned to trust myself and to give myself the gift of time. The grace to figure it out.

I got myself a tattoo of this turtle, to commemorate this memory that is forever embedded in me, and to honor a country and people that have given me more than I can ever truly repay.

And I still feel like it’s a sign from the universe when I see a hawksbill turtle out in the sea.

OUTRO MUSIC

CREDITS