You are probably wondering why I am writing a blog post about otters, and why you need to find one.

Bestie, it’s a euphemism.

Recently I was headed out of town for the holidays. It took me - not one, not two but three days - to leave town. What catastrophe could have occurred to cause this? Thanks for asking, I would love the opportunity to tell you.

The backstory isn’t very exciting, but I have to build the suspense for the ending punch line.. ie otters.

Day 1

I do be rushin.’ These days besties, I dont like rushing. Rushing heightens my anxiety and heart rate, rising my cortisol, increasing my risk of cancer growth. Great.

I had a dentist appointment. I needed (wanted) to clean the house. I had to pack every single solitary creature comfort. By early afternoon, I found myself still at home and decided to throw in the towel. I wasn’t leaving that day.

Old Gillian would have ruuuushed, stressed, pushed, made it happen.

But why?

That is not a question I can fully answer. I dont know why I spent the majority of my life fulfilling what I “should” do, following rules I made up in my own head. If I said I was leaving at 9 a.m., I had to leave at 9 a.m.

Not anymore.

Day 2

We’re packed. Truck is filled. Dogs are loaded. We are off!

There’s that little tire pressure light. Oh right - you saw that yesterday and never checked it.

I have a tea party to get to. I have to go. I dont have time for a flat tire.
screams internally: Im a delicate flower!

My girl brain said It’ll be fiiiiiine. Whats a low PSI going to do? It’s a short trip, I’ll fill it up later.

Two houses down, after completing a full argument in my head, I pull over and check tires.
Passenger rear: 14 PSI.

Well. Thats not fine.

I got back in the truck, hit reverse, back up the 200 feet to my house, unloaded the dogs, and drove to Costco tire center. One huge perk about living in the city: everything is accessible.

Normal Gillian would have already lost her temper. She would be anxious and pissed off by now. The plan must be followed.

Maybe it is the Zoloft. Maybe it’s the medically induced menopause. Either way, I’m like water off a ducks back.

I drop off the truck. The man at the counter asks, “Ma’am, are you able to leave the vehicle?”
Me: “Ummm… is there another option?”
Him: “You could not leave the vehicle.”
Wow. I feel so enlightened.

He told me, my truck would be done by the end of the day.

The end of the day.

Damn.

I Uber home, don’t think twice about the groceries still packed in the truck, and nestled into a little Dawsons Creek.

I would, yet again, not be leaving.

I couldn’t help feeling shocked by the calm of my nervous system. Usually I would be racked with stress:
You’re disappointing your friends, you said you would be there, you should have remembered the tire pressure light was on yesterday, you should have been better, done more.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

And in this calm moment, I was proud of me. I let my friends know I wouldn’t make it. I enjoy the day in my nice, clean house.

Day 3.

We hit the road! Dogs reloaded. Truck still packed. Tire fixed.

Now to continue to brag about my steady nervous system (and get to the point).

Halfway into the trip, I pull over to one of my favorite secret spots. It looks like a simple shoulder turnout, a safe place either before entering the windy hills with sheer cliff drop-offs or just after exiting them.

But I know this spot is more.

I abandon my rule-following, plan-obsessed self. I could use a stretch. The dogs could use a stretch. I dont need to get to my destination as quickly as possible, I can enjoy the trip, not just complete it.

It’s a short 200-foot walk to the pond. The dogs are thrilled—bounding back and forth, following scents, urgently telling each other what they’ve just discovered.

There is a short trail around half the pond. As I walk out, I look across the water and, to my disbelief, see a bald eagle sitting stoically on a branch, overlooking the pond.

On my way back, I notice something swimming. Wait—two somethings. Sleek, smooth-backed, gliding through the water.

No. It can’t be.
But it is.

Two otters, swimming and dancing like synchronized lovers beneath a bald eagle.

What is life? How did I get so lucky—to pull over randomly, on a day I wasn’t even supposed to be driving, in the middle of nowhere, and see this?

To say I was awestruck is an understatement. I was enthralled.

This is not the first time I have been hit in the face with nature.

The most memorable as of late were when my husband and I decided to say “F it” and go RVing for thanksgiving. I watched sea lions bask in the waves, fins up, floating softly back and forth. Something that could only be described as pure blissful enjoyment.

Another time, I decided to go visit my aunt and stay at her ranch for the first time since I was, oh I dont know five? And decided to take an incredibly out of the way scenic route to Santa Cruz. For of course, a latte and a pastry. I enjoyed my sweet treat, decided to drive out of town along the ocean (obviously) and then back onto 101 south. Before hitting the highway, I pulled off to take a quick scenic moment. Walked to the cliffs edge, and there they were, you guessed it. Sea otters, floating on their backs the way they would with Anthony Bourdain, eating crustaceans. Magic.

Lastly and most recently, an impromptu walk though the local lakeside park. There they were, four of them, gracefully plodding along, you guessed it again, otters.

If you have made it all the way through my whimsical diatribe. This is what I have learned.

I realize that I’m ok.
That this can be ok.
I will make it ok.

Regardless of the situation or the shitty circumstances. There is still oxygen to be found.

I may not be right where I need to be and Im not where I should be - there it is that natural tendency to fill in the “should”. But if I was honest, which obviously I am, I should be in a much more stable environment: paying into my 401k, planning long, arduous trips with my friends and husband, training for my C25K, confidently buying furniture off Marketplace because I know I can move it myself.

No cancer is not a gift. No it has not improved my life or given me these moments. It is simply my circumstance. I am mad. I am sad. I am deteriorating.

But in these moments, in nature, really seeing nature, the way I did as a ten year old on family vacations. I realize that I’m ok.

I am learning to take it slow. I am learning not to rush. I am learning there is no greater plan. I am learning it’s the journey not the destination. I am learning what that journey looks like for me.

This is not toxic positivity. Sometimes it looks like a day of rest. A day in bed. A simple walk. Other times, it’s a true adventure.

I am giving myself permission to live. In whatever way I need to when I wake up. No shoulds. No rules. No guilt. Slow, patient living. I have a lot to learn, a lot to reframe, and much to let go of.

And I hope, by the end of my journey, I will rest easily knowing, I lived for me, authentically, lovingly, and naturally.

And, recognizing, that otters are my cancer animal.

What is a cancer animal? Well I made it up. But I’ve decided that it will be my symbol of life. That this is the point; ease, nature, love, family, friends, creativity, travel, and so much more, but a gentle, majestic, theatrical reminder that I am ok where I am.

So, besties, I hope you find your otter.

I hope you find a place where you are ok. I hope you find your point, your reason for life. Your reason to say, I have cancer. It is a knot of emotional weeds, it looks different for everyone, but in this moment, I am free.

I hope you find a symbol that shows you life will go on - with or without your urgency or “shoulds.” That you can face the day the way you need to.

A symbol that reinforces that your journey doesn’t need expectations, or rules. It simply needs you.

And that when you do show up—however you show up—something might already be there, waiting to meet you with a warm embrace. 🦦