By Jan Chaffin December 27, 2020

It’s the day after Christmas 2020 at Waddell Beach near Ano Nuevo Elephant Seal Preserve. There’s a warm breeze and the sun is reflecting off the green tips of the huge waves. Vehicles full of families are pulling in and out of the parking lot constantly. Folks are stretching their legs and feasting their eyes on the beautiful Central California coast.

No one seems to notice the almost 5,000 pound Elephant Seal planted by the main entrance to the beach. A few families nearly trip over him until I call out “please watch out for the bull!”. I’m a State Park Service Aide and this is what I get to do.

Once I start pointing him out, folks become fascinated. He periodically lifts his massive head and chest up, tosses aside his humongous proboscis (snout) tilts his face to the sky, opens his mouth and bellows like a hells angel in a drain pipe. His deeply resonant short staccato burps are his calling card to other seals: “I’m Roger Rogue; here I am!” Families are delighted. When he settles back into the sand for periods of inactivity, folks ask: “Is he dead?!”

One young gentleman approaches me, clearly distraught. “I can’t believe the trash on this beach!” I try de-escalating with “Yes, it’s quite popular, we do the best we can.” He corrects: “Oh no, not you, I think you do great work. I’m a fisherman from Wisconsin and believe it’s within our power to stop pollution.” I cringe at how far he has travelled during a pandemic holiday lockdown, but it’s been a hard year for everyone, so I thank him and say: “Well, right now, my work is guarding this big guy” and point to “Roger” who, as if on cue, bellows boisterously for the gathering crowd.

The young fisherman turns and sees his first elephant seal. He is overcome and shouts with joy: “You go big guy, you get back in that ocean and swim, I LOVE you!”. Tears of joy stream down his (and my) face as he looks at me. “Don’t see those in Wisconsin, huh?” He nods no and smiles in gratitude.

Many wonderful opportunities to talk about the seal follow, and everyone is uplifted after spending time with the majestic mammal. But none are more transformed than the young fisherman so far from home the day after Christmas. This much I know: Seals Heal!

by Jan Chaffin December 3, 2020

I have an insatiable appetite… for attention. An uncontrollable urge to interrupt consumes every conversation. I was born an only child but I don’t think that’s the whole story. I’m pretty sure I ate my own twin.

Apparently it’s not that uncommon. There’s even a name for it: “Vanishing Twin Syndrome”.  “A twin disappears in the uterus during pregnancy… the fetal tissue is absorbed by the other twin… or the mother.” It’s also called “Twin Resorption”. And it seems “high resorption rates suggest intense fetal competition…”

I started down a fascinating rabbit hole of related topics, including: 

– Pregnant babies

– Twins with different fathers

– Stone babies

– Men who give birth

– Women who get pregnant while pregnant.

– Self-fertilizing women

There are, sadly, even parchment flattened twins called: Fetus papyraceus

When I was about 13, I remember Mom casually mentioning the doctor heard two heartbeats while she was pregnant. So I guess that meant she was expecting twins…? But that was the end of it. No further explanation. I’m sure I asked what happened, I just don’t remember her answer. All I remember is my Mom telling me how hard she and Dad tried for sixteen years to have me.

So much of what shapes us happens so early. So much of what I accepted as a child makes little sense to me now. Some things I’ll never know.

But it makes as much sense as any other explanation of why I need to be wanted so much. Literally, self-absorbed behavior. My twin and I fetally competed for resources in a life and death battle. I won. But something inside me needs to be acknowledged so fiercely that it overwhelms the rational socialized parts of my personality. Some vestigial lost aspect still pleads to be fed, to be heard, to be loved… to BE at all.

Plato spoke of the missing half and how love is the name for our pursuit of wholeness.

I wonder, with such an emotional ghost dance, is it too late to re-write my own creation story? Could I love all of me(s)?!