Remember to Look for Whales

“Your true home is in the here and the now.”

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Several times a week my dog Zeke and I walk on the bluffs by my house. We always take the trail closest to the edge for the best view of the ocean. Okay, I'm the only one who cares about the view really. Zeke is more interested in looking for small rodents in the grass and “trail snacks” left by the horses that walked the trail before us. Dogs are gross. I tell Zeke this all the time, but he is not easily offended. And he makes it clear that he does not plan to change for me. I respect that about him. He says, look. I like to roll around in dead things and eat horse poop. This is who I am. If you're gonna love me you gotta take the whole package. Oh, and I have fleas too.

At this time of year you can see whales passing off shore as they make their annual migration through the channel. Last Spring I was obsessed with looking for whales on my walks. Friends started to tease me about my near daily Facebook posts about whale and dolphin sightings. I walked with my eyes glued to the ocean, not wanting to miss a water spout or a tail rising out of the ocean. I saw a couple. Once I even saw a humpback whale fully breach. I literally gasped. The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds, but it was truly awe inspiring. Zeke missed it of course. He had his nose in a rodent hole at the time.

Earlier this week I was walking along the bluffs and I caught a splash out of the corner of my eye. I looked out at the ocean and saw a dolphin leap out of the water. Of course it was a beautiful sight. What struck me though was not the beauty of the dolphin, but the fact that I had been walking with my head down. I had barely noticed the ocean on my left and the sea of wild mustard on my right. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had seen a dolphin or even thought about looking for one. For the past several months my vision has been turned inward.

My husband and I are ending our marriage of seventeen years. It's a hard and painful time, separating the many strands of our lives that have been woven together in marriage and family. Of course we find knots that are difficult to untangle and try our patience. And the challenges we face moving forward are so daunting that some days I just want to stay in bed and pull the blankets over my head. Anxiety, an old unwelcome companion, has returned to walk with me through my days. I keep trying to shove him away, but he has no plans to leave anytime soon. Anxiety is mainly what causes me to walk with my head down and curl inward, trying to protect myself by rolling up like a pill bug.

When I raise my head and take the long view, I am optimistic. My husband and I both want to part as gracefully as possible. We want to remain cooperative parents for our children, and we are even hopeful that we can be friends when the wounds heal. He is a good man, and a good father. I want him to find happiness. We're in the thick of separating our lives right now though and it ain't easy. In this process of untangling the threads I sometimes forget to look up at the beauty that is all around me. I need to be nudged and reminded.

A couple of days ago Zeke and I were walking on the bluffs again. We came upon a young couple looking out at the ocean. “Hey,” the young man said. “Did you see the whales out there? We saw like twelve spouts in the last five minutes.” I thanked him enthusiastically and sat down on the edge of the cliff. The sun was low in the sky so I had to shield my eyes. The water was sparkling. And then I saw it: A spray of water shooting upward like a geyser. And then another. I sat for about fifteen minutes watching the water spouts, occasionally catching a glimpse of a sleek body before it slipped back under the water. Zeke even stopped rustling around in the grass and sat with me. My shoulder muscles relaxed and my breathing slowed. Anxiety walked away down the trail for awhile as I just waited and watched for whales. I remembered that there is a lot of beauty in my life, even now. And that in the winter the Monarch butterflies will return.