Saving slugs

Rescues are pointless…but we can still help.

My husband likes to save slugs. When we’re hiking, if he sees a slug or snail in the middle of the trail, he carefully slides a leaf under it, then moves it to the damp, earthy undergrowth along the side of the path. He does this to save them from getting trampled. I’d ask him, “How do you know that was the side they wanted to get to? What if they were trying get to the opposite side? Then they’d have to start from square one and make the journey all over again.”

On my walk yesterday morning, I saved nine slugs. It was tricky sliding the leaves under them, so I had to use a little twig to gently push them onto the leaf. If I couldn’t find a firm-enough leaf nearby, I’d gently nudge them to the side with my twig, careful not to prod. As I walked along the path, I imagined the twig was some kind of life-saving wand. There was one slug I’d relocated in the nick of time, just as three joggers stomped through the section of the path where a moment ago, the little creature had been lounging.

I wondered why so many slugs came out onto the path. Probably because of the week’s rain, which lubricated the surface. Surely, it was safer for them to be in the undergrowth. I wondered what it would feel like to be a slug, with all those nerves in its soft belly. Would the slug feel more comfortable gliding this belly along the rough soil, rocks, roots, and leaves of the undergrowth, the terrain unreadable and changing from one millimeter to the next? Or would it feel better gliding this belly along a smooth, slightly wet, well-trodden path? The well-trodden path would probably feel more comfortable, I surmised.

We’re a lot like slugs in this respect. Instead of the challenging but life-preserving route, we prefer the easier but potentially more hazardous one. And when I speak of life, I refer to a conscious life, where one is attuned to one’s interior and exterior world, embracing joy, passion, creativity, and especially conflict, fear, sorrow and anger when they arise. The experience of being on that paved route mirrors the human tendency to use drugs, overeat, or overshop as coping mechanisms for stress, sadness, tiredness, or anxiety. It could mean clinging to a high-paying, joy-sapping job. It could mean staying with an unsuitable partner. It could mean having children or not having children, or buying a house because you think that’s what your supposed to do. It could mean suppressing an urge to write, dance, paint, or join the circus, fearing the jeers of a disapproving audience. It could mean not letting anyone in, because that way, no one can hurt you or see that you ain’t all that!

Last week, I was on the phone with a friend who said to me, “Why you always want to help people? You help too much”. When I got off the call, I realized I’d taken offense at this statement. Then I realized I hadn’t called my old friend to catch up, but because I was worried she might be depressed. I believed she needed someone to reach out to her so she would feel cared for, loveable, less isolated. I called because I wanted to rescue, to save. I decided I would not call that one again!

Maybe my desire to be helpful is hereditary. My mother’s always been big on helping. It comes naturally to her. When I was in my teens, I used to find her helpfulness incredibly annoying. “Why you always feel the need to help?” I would say to her as a bratty teen, in the same tone of voice my friend used with me. I judged her. “She’s a people pleaser who wants everyone to like her”, “She must be making up for feelings of guilt, inadequacy or low self-worth”, “Helping makes her feel like she’s in control”, “She helps so she can feel like she’s a good person”, “She probably thinks if she helps people, she’ll go to heaven or get good karma”. I used to think that altruism and agape were completely hypocritical. I used to think that people only helped others to feel good about themselves or so they could ask for a favor later; it was a selfish, transactional act. Now, I don’t know anymore.

When I challenged my mother about her helping behaviors, she would explain the difference between caregiving (helping just because) and caretaking (helping because it makes you feel you ought to). “Caretaking is when you give from the limited supply of water in your cup, knowing that this act of generosity will leave you a little less full. In caregiving, you give from your overflowing cup to satisfy another’s thirst. If we share the water in our cup, we will have less, but if we share the water that overflows, we prevent a mess or flood. This echoes the sentiment I often hear from my counselor peers—that self-care and setting boundaries are crucial to avoid burnout; as they say, "You can't pour from an empty cup." 

What does this have to do with the slugs? I’m getting there.

After getting off that call with my friend, I had to remind myself of what I’d told my husband – that we really have no idea which side of the path the slug wants to get to. In the same vein, I don’t know what another person needs to live a life they find meaningful and satisfying.

So, I’ve decided that waving my magic twig wand around with the intention to save or rescue isn’t the answer. Saving a life – human, plant or animal – or at least imagining that that’s what I’m doing, sure feels rewarding, but in the long run it’s futile because the slugs – and the people – seeking comfort over “real” life, will find their way back onto their well-trodden but precarious paths. No one can really save anyone.

Sometimes, trying to help actually makes things worse. Once, I saw a snail on the path. I carefully lifted it between my thumb and forefinger, but its shell was so fragile that it cracked. I did some Googling to find out if snails could survive cracked shells and the prognosis wasn’t good. I cried. I felt like a bad person, a meddling, clumsy, giant with a savior complex. “Leave them alone! Maybe they’re on a suicide mission. If they get trampled on, it’s meant to be. You’re only making things worse. Leave them be,” I told myself through snot and tears. A few minutes later, I saw another snail on the trail. Very gently, I picked it up and moved it to the undergrowth. “Thank you for giving me the chance to redeem myself,” I said to the mollusk, wiping away my tears.

Redemption, could this the reason behind the desire to be helpful? Even if this were the case, would that negate the value of helping?

No. Because the help we provide saves us, regardless of whether it impacts anyone else. Ralph Waldo Emerson said “the purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well”. Mahatma Gandhi said, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others”. If these fellas where correct, then perhaps we should all be grateful that there are slugs on the path and people who need help. If not, we’d all just be going round in circles till the game is up.

Today, I saw three healthy looking slugs on my walk. I didn’t do anything. I thought to myself, “Do you really think you’re the only human on the path who sees these slugs and tries not to trample them? Do you really think others can’t see the predicament of the slug? You want to save the slugs because this will allow you see yourself as kinder, more noble, more sensitive than others of your species. You think you’re the only one who is trying to walk gently on this earth, that everyone else is dumber and less aware than you? Do you hear how arrogant and condescending this sounds? You don’t need to save the slugs, because no one is walking around with the intention of stomping on them. The slugs will do fine without you. The ones who are ready to die will die. You’re the one who needs to notice them. Give it up already. Quit the saving.”

I’ve come to see, there is no one to rescue, there is no one to teach. But we all help nonetheless. That’s what we’re all here to do, whether it’s by serving a burger at a fast-food restaurant or performing heart surgery, writing novels, or looking after children, aging parents or pets. We give help and ask for it because there’s no other way to meaningfully do this thing called life.

What might be the best way to be helpful then? Instead of changing the slug’s route or interfering with someone else’s journey, perhaps the key is to just watch, to watch the risky movements without judgment, even if it causes us discomfort to do so. Then redirect our steps, altering our own course, to avoid causing harm. Sometimes we help more when we do less for others and more for ourselves. I don’t mean this in a selfish way. What I mean is, we can’t really save others, but when we work on saving ourselves, we can serve as part of a support structure that minimizes the threats of harm in our shared environment.

My friend, a trauma therapist, offered a wonderful metaphor of what it means to help. She said she saw herself as being the shell of a swimming pool for her clients. “We’re just that wall, giving them something to push off from until they learn how to swim”.