The
smell of must and humid air awakes me.
As my eyes open to a blurry world of blacks, whites, and greys, I
realize that the night is over. Darkness
is gone. The world is light. At least, that’s what I can tell by the thin
sliver of sun streaming into my shallow burrow, my home.
I
scramble to my feet, using my rear claws to kick myself upright. I hear the faint flurry of water flowing down
the stream right outside. I feel
hungry. I smell food. As I scramble towards the exit to my burrow,
I pick up a scent. A mosquito? No. Centipede? Neither.
It’s a black widow and her nest.
I unravel my tongue and slurp the webbing and its contents into my
mouth. Breakfast.
My
appetite satisfied, I emerge from my subterranean dwelling caked in a fine
layer of Texas clay and dirt. The sound
of the stream’s trickling grabs my attention, and I realize that it’s been
three days since I’ve had a drink. I
waddle over to the soft, moist ground of the bank and dip my face into the cool
water. The current sends a tickling
sensation along my snout.
The
sounds of scorched leaves crunching and dry twigs snapping startle me. I whip my head out of the stream and freeze
in place. Something is rustling in the
underbrush on the opposite bank. And
it’s bigger than me.
Uninterested
in meeting this bush-dweller, I quickly dash into the water, take a deep
breath, and swim to the bottom. In this
muffled, murky world I feel safe.
Everything is quiet. I slowly
make my way down to the bottom, pausing once I get there to curl up in a
ball. For several minutes I collect
myself, allowing my fear to settle. In
this state I am at my most peaceful.
Nothing can harm me.
I
surface when my breath finally starts to run out. Crisp, clean air greets my nostrils along
with the “hill-country smell”: pine, pollen, bluebonnet, cicada, honeybee,
cardinal, deer, bobcat, and a thousand other odors. It’s an aromatic menagerie that I’ve come to
learn well. Indeed, my nose guides me
through this world. Without it, I’d be
nothing but a walking shell.
I
paddle over to the bank and crawl up the soft incline. Glancing around, I see a hill that I’d never
seen before. Embracing my curiosity, I
begin my ascent, the sun bearing down on my nine-banded back.
The
climb is slow, but I embrace the challenge it brings. Between scampers, I always pause for a
moment, careful to take in my surroundings.
After a while, I reach the summit.
I stand on my hind legs and take in the new lands below me.
And
then I hear it again: that unmistakable rustling of leaves and branches. Whatever’s causing the sound is close by, but
I don’t know where it’s coming from. A
loud snap disrupts the peace of the hills.
Just as the dirt next to me explodes, I leap high into the air. My heart flutters with the type of fear I am
all too accustomed to—the fear of the end.
As I return to the earth, my legs are already kicking at a frantic
pace. I immediately take off running,
down the hill and into the unexplored world below.
Another
crack pierces the landscape. This time
there is no explosion next to me.
Rather, something slams into my side, lifting me off my feet and carrying
me into a thicket bush close by. I land
on my back and lay there stunned. After
a moment I roll over and get back on my feet.
Seeing a puddle nearby, I scramble over and quickly burrow into the
earth next to it. I stay there until I
am sure my pursuer is gone. Soon after I
crawl out and take in my new surroundings under the twilight sky. Then I return to my new home.
I
wonder what breakfast will be tomorrow.
The
armadillo that I shot that day was the first animal that I’d ever attempted to
kill. I was seven years old on a family
reunion vacation at a ranch in south Texas and was chomping at the bit to take
out my brand new .22 for a spin. Before
that day, my only targets had been lifeless dummies, paper bulls eyes, tin
cans, etc. So when my dad offered to
take me out for a little father-son hunting outing, I was vehemently
enthusiastic.
But
when I hit that armadillo from about thirty yards away later that afternoon, a
change happened inside of me. Never
before had I been filled with such an overwhelming sensation of guilt and
dread: I felt absolutely horrible for attempting to take an animal’s life just
for sport. I know for a fact that the
bullet ricocheted off of the armadillo’s shell—an eerie, organic-sounding
“pang” that reverberated through the sky confirms this—but I’m not sure if he
survived. I sincerely hope with all of
my being that he lived to see another day.
I’ve
never gone hunting since then. But more
importantly, that fateful day instilled an omnipresent sympathy for all animals
in me, specifically Armadillo. Before I
left the ranch, I went to a convenience store and bought a stuffed animal
armadillo—the one I bring to class every day.
Named “Army,” he slept in my bed with me every night for years. And to this day, I won’t deny that I put him
under my pillow occasionally.
So
Armadillo has been a part of my world for a long time now. But I wasn’t familiar with the gifts that his
spirit bestows on people until several days ago. I was shocked, however, to discover how
relevant and applicable some of those gifts have been to me throughout my days. Specifically, “The Spirit of Armadillo brings
gifts of protection, resilience, and the ability to define and broaden the
limits of your comfort zone. Armadillo
energy provides a shield against danger and protects from emotional harm.” [I]
Truly,
I feel that such a broadening of my comfort zone has been a common theme throughout
my life. My earliest memories of being
in a social setting come from elementary school, a time when I was persecuted
by the “cool” kids for being a nerd. It
was a hard four years, but the constant teasing certainly hardened me for later. Thus, as the mocking carried over into middle
school, I began to be able to brush off comments and developed the ability to
laugh at myself. I gained a lot of
confidence, enough so that I approached my parents about going to a different
high school—a serious adventure beyond my comfort zone. But the switch was an incredible one, and my
world grew huge at St. Mark’s School of Texas.
Suddenly I found myself surrounded by loyal friends, peers, and mentors,
all of whom helped me come into my own; enrolling at a university as big as UT
is only a further example of expanding my comfort zone. Certainly, Armadillo played a huge role in my
journey to college, and I hope that he continues to use his shell to keep me
protected and grounded as well as his vast territorial expansion (“Armadillos have made steady and slow progress
up from Central America to Mexico, Texas and the southeastern United States
since the late 1880s” [II]) to help me remain forever curious and adventurous.
I
was also very surprised to learn that the “Armadillo is closely associated with
music.” [I] While I’m no musician
myself, I do pride myself on having a good ear and am absolutely in love with
all types of music. Country, rock,
alternative, rap, electronic, alternative, you name it—I like them all, so much
so that I actually want to have a career music industry. Certainly, the armadillo’s spirit bestows
other, arguably more important gifts on people, but I believe that the fact he
is associated with my dream occupation is more than coincidence.
Speaking
of future dreams, “The Spirit of Armadillo can represent fulfillment of
desires” [I]. Indeed, whether it was
being accepted into St. Mark’s, doing just well enough on exams to get the
grade I wanted, or getting into the school of my dreams (Plan II), I’ve been
incredibly lucky to successfully achieve many of my goals in life thus
far. Those three examples are purely
academic, but most of my personal desires have also been fulfilled: starting a
new life in high school at St. Mark’s, finding a circle of truly loyal friends,
fixing a broken relationship with my parents before moving out, becoming closer
with my siblings, developing a mature moral compass, the list goes on and
on. I hold Armadillo completely
responsible for motivating and helping me achieve all of these accomplishments.
Armadillo’s
close association with the state of Texas is well known. As Larry L. Smith and Robin W. Doughty put it
in their book The Amazing Armadillo:
Geography of a Folk Critter, “In the last fifteen or twenty years, more and
more Texans have increased their regard for this odd-looking mammal. Some lawmakers described it as having human
qualities. It is a “true Texan,” they
say, tough, pioneering, adaptable, and it generously shares its habitation with
others.” [III] This geographic identity
is one that I share and consider very important to my own being. Though I was born in Baltimore and spent the
first two years of my life in Philadelphia, I will always consider myself a
Texan. Starting at an early age, family
trips to Big Bend, attending Rangers and Cowboys games, visiting relatives in
Wichita Falls and Austin, grilling on chilly autumn evenings, and spending hot
summer weeks at Camp Longhorn quickly instilled a love for all things Texas in
me. This all gives me a sense of having
a true home, a place rich in tradition that will always remind me of my own
identity. Indeed, just as Armadillo is a
“true Texan” in that he is “tough, pioneering, and adaptable,” so do I find
that I have many similar qualities—qualities that I’ve gained from embracing
Texas and making it an essential part of my character. Be it my ridiculous intolerance to the cold,
my appreciation of the outdoors, my love of sports, my infatuation with country
music, or my obsession with barbeque, so much of what I do and believe in could
be considered “true Texan.” So when it
came time to select a college, I went against my parents’ wishes to go out of
state and decided to remain here, where Armadillo’s and my true home is.
Putting
together the three medicines and cultural identity that Armadillo has gifted
me, I see how he has helped me become the young man I am today. Being able to “consciously define [my] own emotional and physical
boundaries” [IV] has given me an acute sense of self-awareness, a trait that I
believe is key in becoming a good leader.
After all, if you don’t understand how other people view you, how do you
expect them to follow you? In addition,
the emotional protection that his shell gives me has allowed me to gradually
expand my comfort zone, thus gaining a strong amount of confidence, another
essential characteristic of being a good leader. His association with music and achieving what
I desire has defined my own future dreams and aspirations—having a clear goal
in mind and the will to work toward it is a vital self-discipline every leader
must have. Finally, Armadillo’s deep
connection to Texas has given me a sense of unbreakable cultural pride on which
I base many of my morals and beliefs.
Such a strict belief in one’s own character is yet another trait of
every good leader. Thus, having
Armadillo in my life has not only built me into the young man I am today, he
has also shown me how to be a good leader.
I couldn’t be more thankful for everything he’s done for me, and I am
overjoyed that he decided to choose me on that fateful day eleven years
ago.
Word
Count: 2036
Without
Quotes: 1911
[I] “Spirit of
Armadillo.” Happy Wishing Well. Accessed October 6, 2015. http://www.happywishingwell.com/madamhelga/armadillo.html.
[II] “Armadillos
slinking their way into Indiana.” The Associated Press. Accessed October 7,
2015. http://www.theindychannel.com/news/local-news/armadillos-slinking-their-way-into-indiana.
[III] Smith, Larry L., and Robin W. Doughty. The
Amazing Armadillo: Geography of a Folk Critter. Austin: The University of
Texas Press, 1984.
[IV] “Armadillo Power Animal
Symbol Of Boundaries Safety.” Shamanic Journey. Accessed October 6, 2015. http://www.shamanicjourney.com/armadillo-power-animal-symbol-of-boundaries-safety.
Media Citations:
1) Exiting Burrow: http://voices.nationalgeographic.com/files/2014/05/Schafer.Tatu_.CD5339-04.jpg
2) Swimming
Underwater: http://imgc.allpostersimages.com/images/P-473-488-90/28/2891/UZCPD00Z/posters/bianca-lavies-nine-banded-armadillo-swimming-underwater-melbourne-florida.jpg
3) Standing Up: http://jacksonville.com/sites/default/files/armadillo_0.jpg
4) Resting in
Leaves: http://phenomena.nationalgeographic.com/files/2014/12/NineBandedArmadillo-990x660.jpg
5) Armadillo
Music: http://phenomena.nationalgeographic.com/files/2014/12/NineBandedArmadillo-990x660.jpg
6) Nowhere But
Texas: http://www.texasgenweb.org/coryell/TexasArmadillo.jpeg
