Moments after we entered the national park, our jeep jerked to a stop. A matriarchal herd was crossing the road. Twenty-five elephants, give or take.
There were toddlers who barely reached their mothers’ bellies. There were teenagers getting scolded for unruly behavior. Some things are the same everywhere.
One by one, they marched down to the lake. They drank their fill. They played in the water. Then they moved to the mud pits and wallowed in the muck.
Finally, they wandered onto dry ground and used their trunks to coat themselves, and each other with sand.
It was a joy to watch.
What can the elephants teach us about life?
More than I expected. But one thing our guide said stopped me cold.
Elephants are born with four molars. Two on top, two on the bottom. When those teeth wear down, a new set grows in to replace them. Over their 65-year lifespan, it happens five times.
Here’s the part that got me. While the new teeth come in, it hurts. For two full years. And to cope with the pain, the elephants chew rocks.
I’ve chewed rocks more than once.
Each time, the life I’d built stopped fitting. What used to work no longer worked. And the only way forward was to grow something new.
It happened to me when the work that had shaped me for decades came to an end. My consulting business came to a screeching halt. I’d been booked out for nine months. Suddenly it was gone. Evaporated.
I had to start all over. At first, you don’t even know what’s wrong. You just feel yourself chewing harder and getting less. So you push.
You grind on the same old rocks and wonder why nothing gives. But, no one answered the phone or replied to my emails.
Then it lands. You don’t need to chew harder. You need new teeth.
Growing new teeth is painful. It’s also the whole point.
And here’s the catch we don’t get to skip. Nobody hands us the new set. We have to figure out what we need, then grow it ourselves.
The first stretch is a mess. The new ones don’t feel right and the old ones don’t work. Then, slowly, they settle in. And you can take on things you couldn’t before.
That’s the part worth holding onto. You don’t grow new molars to claw back to where you were. You grow them to reach what the old ones never could.
Each painful set leaves you higher than the last.
We always hope the newest set is the final one. It never is. And honestly, that’s the good news.
The elephant isn’t surprised. She’s watched it happen across the herd her whole life. She knows the ache means she’s still growing.
We’re the ones who flinch. We treat the next change like a failure, instead of a sign we’re still climbing.
So if it’s been a while, ask yourself the honest question. Are you chewing harder than ever and getting less? Are you grinding rocks, hoping the old teeth hold out a little longer?
Maybe it’s time for a new set. Even if it hurts.
The only real question is what they’ll let you reach next.
