Throughout my life, I have sought out the company of animals, and they have also sought out mine. When I was in my 20s, my mother took me to Baja California, Mexico, for a whale watching expedition. Fortunately for the wildlife, the area had been dedicated as a nature preserve with limited access. Our group was alone with several guides, a few biologists, and hundreds—if not thousands—of gray whales. These beautiful, mammoth creatures had traveled thousands of miles south to the warm waters of Mexico to mate and give birth to their calves.

Every day we would take excursions out into the bay in tiny wooden skiffs. Six of us would crowd into each of the little boats like sardines, and our guide would row us out among the whales. The grays’ exhales could be heard for miles. Spouts of ocean water flew into the air like geysers, and when the whales were close enough, the spray of saltwater rained down on us. For days, we sat among these enormous creatures, patiently watching as they rolled and played on the surface. Occasionally, they lifted their massive bodies into the air as they breached the water. These dramatic and playful displays took our breath away.

If we were lucky, we would see mothers push their newborn calves to the surface of the water to help them breathe. It was amazing to behold these precious little ones—each about thirteen feet long—as they learned to navigate the ocean while bulking up on their mother’s milk, preparing for the long trek northward. On the third day, a whale with a white tail playfully scooped some water and hurled it toward us. I spontaneously clapped for her while the others looked concerned, as though she might lob her enormity on top of us at any minute. For three days, she splashed us every time we would go out into the bay. But on the fourth day, after her white tail did its deed, I saw her dive, tail poised in the air. Her calf dived with her, and the next thing I knew she was underneath us, skillfully lifting up the skiff and all its passengers on her back.

I laughed with delight as the other passengers clutched the boat’s railing, holding on for dear life until she gently lowered the skiff back into the water. Struck by the pure joy of the unexpected event, I found myself mentally sending her a “thank you” for her playful antics. With my eyes closed, I pictured my gratitude landing directly in her thoughts, and when my eyes opened, she was right by my side. Instead of placing her body between her precious calf and me, she nudged him to me so I could touch him. As I reached out my hand, she rolled over onto her side, and our eyes met. The depth of her soul reverberated inside of me. The interchange was vital and honest; there was something so pure in her gaze. She honored me with her presence; she honored me by trusting me to touch her calf. I came away changed.