When was the last time you experienced awe?
When something made your mouth fall open and time slowed down?
Memorial Day Weekend, 2020
I went on a whale-watching boat ride somewhere in the San Juan Islands with a few friends. The last time I went whale-watching I encountered huge waves, cold rain and the smell of vomit. Barely any whales to be seen.
This day was different. Sunny with a light breeze. One of those days that make Seattle summers worth the winter dark. There were people on the boat who go whale watching weekly: marine biologists, tourists and even a few island locals. There were photographers with long zoom lenses mounted on professional cameras.
“Just heard from our other crew on the radio. You’re in for a treat today,” our captain said. She listed the names of the orcas that had been spotted that day, but my ear caught on the melody of one name in particular: Tahlequah.
Within a half hour we spotted a black curve in the blue water, our first sighting. We rushed to the right side of the boat. Then another one, and another. The whales danced, spewed water, and splashed. From a microphone submerged in the water, their chorus song piped through the ship’s speakers. Clicks and whistles and baritone calls. Soon there were whales behind us, to the left of the boat, in front of us, leaping from the water, triumphing.
A smaller hump peeked out of the water with a snub nose. A new baby calf swimming next to Tahlequah.
“Her last calf died,” the photographer told us. “She carried its body for seventeen days.”
The orcas had come to celebrate the new calf. They travel oceans for these gatherings. No one knows exactly how this long-distance communication works.
What was supposed to be a two hour tour turned into five hours as we followed them to the edge of the Canadian border and back to the islands. The sun began to set, bursting an orange glow on their wet skin. The captain and the photographer wiped tears from their eyes.
This was an experience of awe.
And sadly, the next day, hundreds of miles away, my best friend passed away. And because of Covid restrictions, there was nothing I could have done. That’s what I keep telling myself. Someday I may believe it.
Balancing
So I am highly suspicious of awe, even though I still search for it. I am convinced something terrible will happen when something wonderful happens. There must be balance in the world, a yin for a yang. It’s comforting to think there is a scoreboard somewhere, where the numbers add up.
I wonder, as I get older, if I will appreciate more of the sweetness in bittersweet moments. Or will I lose my sense of taste/feeling and they will be mostly bitter.
Or another thought: I never used to like the sour taste of lemons until I became older. Is awe something that can be sour and still transform and transfix?
I think of my friend’s passing as a ripple through time and space. A release of energy that brought the orcas together, and brought me to the San Juan Islands at that moment, his last gift. A life for a birth. The story folds neatly into a paper crane.
Wow. Thank you for writing this.