Yesterday I set out with a singular goal - spotting the whale that's been playing in the waters of English Bay - our backyard. Several friends had seen her and I have a list of wildlife that I
must see before our family moves away from Canada. Whales are on the list. The stars aligned such that I had prepared Tuesday night's dinner on Monday, I had a meeting at the school just after lunch and Philip was out of town. I already knew the laundry would wait patiently, so I, along with my children, proceeded to pack backpacks in preparation for a day out. My Parent Advisory Council notebook and the bylaws needing editing went with me, as did Jamie Tworkowski's book
If You Feel Too Much. As soon as I dropped the children at their classrooms, I headed to McDonald's - I know, not the healthiest of choices, but it was quick, easy and on the way. It seemed I had forgotten to eat breakfast - I was
that excited. I took my Egg McMuffin down to the benches at English Bay and quickly retreated to the 'laughing guy' statues when the geese and seagulls were as interested in my breakfast as was I. With my stomach satiated and my trash safely stowed, I headed back to the beach with anticipation similar to a child's on Christmas Eve.
The Laughing Guys - a friendly place for a picnic breakfast
As I pondered which bench to choose, I saw a gentleman with binoculars surveying the water and I asked him if there was any sign of the whale. He smiled knowingly but said, "Not yet." A gentleman on the bench beside him commented, "He (though I've decided the whale's a girl) was here yesterday between 9 & 10." It was 9:38AM and I was glad I hadn't missed the main attraction. I chose my perch and began busying myself with the business of waiting. Hear me say - I'm categorically horrible at waiting. I called my parents to check in, double checked the phone for any emails and promptly pulled out my trusty notebook and the bylaws beckoning edits. As it turns out, this 'daunting' task took all of 17 minutes, and the whale hadn't visited. Restlessness began to creep in and I decided to find a new perch. The sun was peeking through dappled clouds and I walked to the inukshuk and found a bench on the tip of the man-made peninsula that sticks into the bay. The sun was warm on my back, the water calm and glassy, the container ships seemingly standing guard in the distance. I chose to relax into the waiting, to give myself permission to let my mind wander while the sun relaxed my shoulders and soothed my soul.
The inukshuk
The view from my peninsular perch
The water was calm and glassy indeed - gentle waves lapping the shore like a kitten first learning to drink from a bowl. The water was rhythmic and comforting - it was everything water hasn't been for my home state of South Carolina this past week. It was odd to sit in that tension. Water is powerful - powerful in its ability to cripple roads and bridges and tear houses apart; powerful in its gentleness as balm for a weary soul; powerful in the opportunity it presents for new life to those wanting to escape brutalities in the places they've only known as home. Seeing power in so many forms is overwhelming and I got restless again. It was time to find a new perch.
I meandered over the beach to the sitting logs - notebook stowed, book at the ready. Before opening my book I scanned the water carefully, hopefully - just
knowing the whale was coming. Nothing. It was 11:39AM. I began reading - Jamie's words are poetic, his sentiments affirming, his message encouraging. His book reads as if you're thumbing through a series of songs that put lyrics to the ebb and flow of all our lives. Reading it on the beach amplified the experience. After a few pages I scanned the water and there it was - a muted
"pffft" and a spray of water just above the surface of the bay. Wonder dripped through me and I said aloud to no one in particular, "There it is," and I started walking toward the drifting spray. I found myself walking more quickly, disregarding the sand I had tried to keep out of my shoes earlier. The moment was urgent - I couldn't miss it! Once I got onto the seawall, I dodged folks who didn't seem aware of the miracle that was right before us and I found a perfect watching spot.
The sitting logs - our backyard's view doesn't disappoint either
Look closely - you can see the spray from her breath
She surfaced irregularly - on her on timeline - each time reminding the water of her own power and giving us a glimpse of her grace and enormity. She'd dive to forage for food and we waited eagerly for her next breath - she didn't disappoint. I snapped a few photos, texted my family to let them know she'd arrived and then I just watched. For twenty or more minutes, I just watched. Awe. Her power was so comfortable to her; she moved confidently with gentle regard for the life around her. It was reverently quiet along the seawall despite the growing numbers of people gathering to watch her dining ritual. Those who talked loudly received looks that quieted them instantly. We were in the midst of a mystical, surreal moment.
Then, I left. Goal achieved. Ushered to my meeting by her gentle
"pffft" as I walked away. My soul richer for the almost three hours I sat on the beach. It sounds so decadent - three hours sitting on the beach, but I found that those three hours were the most actively I've waited since anticipating the birth of my children. Those three hours were far more productive than any tangible tasks I could have accomplished in our apartment - the laundry did, in fact, wait. So did the vacuuming and the dusting. In their place a myriad of prayers for my people in South Carolina. In their place, active grieving over the physical distance separating our little family from the rest of our family. In their place, permission to be present and seek wonder even in our broken world. In their place, reclamation of the importance of continuing to live my own story.
"We live a thousand different stories, you and i. We live so many different seasons and who can say when winter or victory or spring? Perhaps all we can do is go together, win and lose together, because we deserve a people and a place...and a team." [from If You Feel Too Much p. 61]
Today is a new day. Our stories continue. Some will be stories of physical rebuilding, some will be of resting from labours, some will be of celebrating what life has put before us, some will feel like slogging through peanut butter. Whatever the case may be, my hope is we all find a glimpse, even if very small, of wonder, hope and awe. And I hope there are people in our lives who remind us of the wonder, hope and awe inside each one of us when our lenses get cloudy and the way seems laborious.
