ADVENTURES IN SELF-AWARENESS or MY BLIND DATE WITH A SEA LION

I have a dear friend who is possessed by a level of generosity usually reserved for new lottery winners or fantasy-laced romcoms. We’ve been close friends since the day we were introduced a very long time ago. Bell bottoms were on their way out for the first time when we met. We’re talking a very long time. Her generosity is kind of like a wild animal that will cross any terrain or border in search of its next beneficiary. At some fantastic point, I was swept up in its path. This has been quite obviously good for me, and now my husband too, and is how I got to do something at the start of this brand new year that I’d always dreamed of doing but never expected to: I—along with my husband, my friend and her two stellar grownup children—have just returned from the magical and amazing Galápagos Islands. Yes, the Galapagos Islands.

Atop Española Island. Photo by Eric Ambel.

I’ve always had a thing for sea lions. I’d heard they can be aggressive, and are problematic in some places. But the roots of my affinity are deep and devoted, based on absolutely nothing.

So when I heard I was going to the Galápagos Islands, my mind took a deep dive into visions of me and sea lions, communing on the shore, tossing beach balls in the water, and sharing a teary goodbye when the fateful day came. It sounds silly writing it out loud, but I consider silliness a human right. (Is that silly?)

So close yet so far.

Photo by Eric Ambel.

Imagine my happiness when I got this close to them on our very first day. It wasn’t the full-on, substantial relationship I was seeking, but I was happy just to have gotten that close. And there are strict rules about staying six feet away (sound familiar?) and absolutely no touching or feeding any of the wild life.

Then I began to hear stories from other guests about a sea lion coming up to them, a sea lion sniffing their feet. I witnessed sea lions approaching people and the people getting scared and backing away. “Hey you, sea lion, over here!” I wanted say (I probably did). But they ignored me. A feeling of inadequacy and dejection came over me. Why hadn’t any of them come up to me? What was wrong with my feet?  Were they perceiving something unworthy or unlikeable in me? They are all instinct, after all. Maybe they knew something.

The glorious days went on. Arduous and wondrous hikes through the volcanic contours of various islands. Iguanas looking like living paintings, beautiful birds everywhere. And of course more sea lions on the shores and beaches. I got to walk among many of them. But we were still keeping our distance.

An iguana poses generously on Floreana Island. Photo by Eric Ambel

The blue-footed booby. Photo by Eric Ambel

On the last day we made our final beach excursion to the island of San Cristobal. We popped out of our zodiac into the water and onto a rocky shoreline. We walked a path to an open beach. There were sea lions everywhere, sea lions to spare, romping around like dogs, napping like grandparents.

A beach at San Cristobal Island.

I sat on a sandy ledge at the edge of the beach and let my legs dangle over. About twenty yards down the beach to my right, a youngish sea lion emerged from the water and started up the shoreline. It seemed to be targeting something or someone. Then I noticed our naturalist sitting cross legged on her towel. That sea lion was heading for HER, ca-lumping side to side, inch by inch, closer and closer. And clearly smiling. The suspense ran through every part of me as I lasered in on the unfolding scene. How close would it get? Was it really going to run right up to her? And why? With each ca-lump, its destination got clearer, its intention unmistakable, until that thing went all the way to the edge of her towel, laid itself down, stretched out its neck and rested its head on her knee. Right on her knee!!!

I saw her bow her head slightly to talk to it. Envy grew in me unbounded, filled me like when you hold your breath during a breathing exercise. I sat on the beautiful sands of San Cristobal enveloped in an envy that took over my entire focus and kept me from feeling a nudge in the small of my back. My eyes and soul were locked on the vision of someone else getting what I wanted when a fellow traveler behind me quietly said, “Don’t freak out, but look down to your right.”

And there it was. My very own sea lion. Nestled all the way into my lower back, its head and tail curling around either side of me. Rolling on its back to get just the right position. Like a cat asking me to scratch its neck. My mouth involuntarily opened in pure wonder and disbelief. Here I was getting just what I wanted on the very last day. I’d been so blinded by concern that someone else was getting it that I couldn’t even perceive what was surrounding me right there, right under my nose, my jealous little nose.

What if the thing we covet, and think we don't have but do, isn’t physical? "But you are really smart. You are loved. You are successful." Why is it so hard to be present with ourselves, to perceive and experience the good we have and the good we are? Why is self-criticism so easy? Pat answers abound: negative messages from our environments. Our parents found fault with us. We're programmed to want more all the time, private corporations that must endlessly increase profits. Positive reality can be hard to accept; so much of its opposite surges and overpowers, like Galápagos waves.

The parable in my story is as obvious as the sea lion at my back. But just in case you missed it: Please take a moment to consider that perhaps you already have some or a lot of what you covet. Take a look around, and kindly into the mirror. You may even have things and qualities enviable to others. I suspect so.