Intrigued after my hike, I looked up cicadas.
I knew I loved their rhythm,
but I didn't know their story.
Like the butterfly, cicadas undergo metamorphosis.
Before they ever make a sound,
they spend years underground.
Shedding.
Growing.
Preparing.
Becoming.
Then, when the time is right, they climb toward the light.
Over the course of their lives, they leave behind five shells.
Not because the shells failed them—
but because they outgrew them.
They step out.
Leaving behind what once protected them…
ready for what comes next.
The freedom.
The growth.
The life waiting.
A new shell— slowly forming for the chapter ahead.
How often do we try to fit ourselves into versions of our lives we've outgrown?
An identity.
A relationship.
A belief.
A career.
A role.
A version of ourselves that once protected us…
but no longer allows us to grow.
I've been thinking a lot lately about conditioning.
The beliefs I inherited.
The expectations I absorbed.
The ways I learned to survive.
Many of them served a purpose…
until they didn't.
Sometimes we speak about change as if it means rejecting who we once were.
I don't think that's true.
The cicada doesn't hate its shell.
It simply leaves it behind.
It honors what carried it this far…
then it makes room for what comes next.
I wonder…
what have I outgrown?
Not what needs fixing.
Not what needs judging.
Simply…
what no longer fits?
Maybe growth is giving yourself permission to leave the shell that was never meant to be your forever home.
Every season has given me something.
Even the ones I wanted to leave.
Wisdom feels less like becoming…
and more like remembering—
knowing when it's time to thank one season…
and fully step into the next.
