I had the privilege to swim in a bay with hordes of sea turtles, and learned from their bodies something important about effort.

I had just finished treatment for breast cancer, and I was exhausted. A dear friend invited me to visit her place in Hawaii for a week of repair and rejuvenation.

Sea turtles weigh about 200 lbs. and swim and dive through the water as if flying, with ancient ease and grace. They are beautiful old souls, gentle and curious. married to the water. But they also like to congregate on land to rest, in a tiny cove in the sun that is reached by crossing the shallow water atop a coral reef. How do the heavy turtles get from the deep water, their place of ease, to the beach where they congregate in the sun? These heavy and gentle creatures do not have proper legs, but only fins. How would I exit the ocean to join my turtle friends in the sun if I did not have legs?

I didn’t understand this crossing until I watched it, imitating with my body what I saw the turtle do. The turtle fits its body into the shallow water by extending its endpoints—four fins, head and tail in opposite directions—to become more flat. From there, the turtle waits. I too, got my body flat by extending my head, arms and legs out. I waited.

When a swell of the gentle waves reaches the cove, the turtle gives a paddle of its fins. It moves forward. When the water ebbs, the turtle does not resist the ebb, but simply waits. With the next swell, the turtle paddles forward again. As I tried this in my body, I found that the ebb tugging me backward, away from my goal, actually felt pleasurable if I did not resist it. Waiting for the swell to assist propelling me forward made the journey interesting, and not draining.

From finding turtle wisdom in my body, I have learned about effort, especially when drained. Pause. Do not effort on the ebb. Rest on the ebb. Wait for the swell to propel you forward. Be a part of the ocean’s momentum and it will offer an assist toward the destination. Far from Hawaii now, my body could practice the sea turtle’s dance for decades and continue to learn to effort less, and less, and less even still.