She cries. Tears stream down her face. Tears that have threatened throughout the movie, but haven’t surfaced. Let’s not start overly dramatic — she cries easily. Let’s recall, she shed a tear in The Replacements, her favorite movie but not one that causes many tears for many people! Somehow, this time, watching Blackfish, alone in her quiet home, she fought them back, until this very last scene. So many things disturbed her and unsettled her soul. That all of these incidents of whales being frustrated and paniced and sad were on video, but so little attention paid to any of them. So many stories buried. So many lies told, without a significant amount of public curiosity, with too much willingness to simply accept statements by “experts” as truths. The tears almost came during the segments showing the momma whales wailing in pain when they were separated from their children. She could feel that in her gut, her worst nightmare, and it reminded her of when Deucey whimpered for Butter after he died. It was surprising, really, that they didn’t come then, the tears that usually flow so easily. She was touched, awed, pulled in. But there was some deeper story there, in the midst of Blackfish, waiting for her. She couldn’t place her finger, her heart, her mind on it just yet. But she couldn’t pull away from it either.

Then there was this last scene. The whales — outside of captivity, in the open water, swimming in their natural habitat, with their pack, unrestrained. Fins up, strong and fast. There was no frustration, no confusion, no manipulated motivation. Surprisingly, there was nothing unpredictable. Just these beautiful whales, strong and sleek and fast and graceful. Moving like they were meant to, loosely together, freely. With full permission because no permission was necessary. And it was then that the tears came, lasting long beyond the credits as she watched every last credit roll. That vision plunged far deeper than the eyes needed to view it, far down into her heart, where she sat with it. It wasn’t just about the whales, although she thought it was in those moments.

She watched these whales swim, and she felt the peace of following a tide that speaks to you, a tide that pulls your heart the direction it wants to go anyway. The pure pleasure of following a current that you trust, even if you don’t know the final destination (maybe particularly so when you don’t know that destination). She thinks of her sister being the triage nurse at urgent care when she thought she had blood clots in her leg. She thinks of her mom at the finish line of the NYC Marathon, a silver foil wrapped around her, smiling from the miles and pride. She sees her dad crying at her high school graduation as he hugged her. She thinks of her son on stage dancing as Michael Jackson or playing his guitar. She thinks of walking through cities she doesn’t know, letting the sidewalks tell their stories. She thinks of her daughter naming the butterfly that lands on her finger after it has emerged from its chrysalis. She is so grateful she’s followed her current – is still following that current. The current has led her through occasional storms, but some of those storms have not been without their fun.

She watched these whales swim, and sees the joy in the journey. It is not just about a safe place to rest at the end of each day. It is not just about food and shelter and survival. Or, more accurately, maybe survival of our souls is more than just about the food and shelter that are bodies need. It’s enjoying the mileage each day. Seeing new places, carving new paths, finding beauty in known paths. Discovering what you are capable of. Swimming strong, with proud fins held straight up as you go into unknown horizons. A strength that you forget you have, might never know you have, if you stay in safe waters.

She watched these whales swim, and she could feel the heartbreak of a man who felt captive to a role he thought he needed to play. A role that was never him. A role that made him forget who he was. A role that felt disconnected from who he was, even if it was who he wanted to be. She’s seen this man so many times, in so many different people, so many different times in her life. When she was six years old, fourteen years old, nineteen years old, forty years old. She has seen it. She’s known men who needed to stand by her side to be their true self, and she’s known men who needed to walk away from her to be theirs. Her heart only broke when she saw the emptiness in their eyes – it broke for them, not for her. It broke when she looked into each of their eyes and couldn’t see the person she cared for. Each time, she wanted that person to have himself back. She wishes each one could swim freely with his pack, swim freely as himself. She wants for each one the peace that comes with the freedom of being yourself.

She watched these whales swim, and she felt the torment of someone asking you to be someone you are not, asking you to tell a story that is not yours. Asking you to confirm a truth you know is a lie. She is so grateful this struggle is not hers. She is so grateful that she never told a story not her own, even if hers was hard to tell. Out of all the emotions that make her cry, the feeling of gratefulness brings the most tears, the biggest knots in her throat.

She watched these whales swim, and she knows the comfort of being with your pack. Of knowing your pack. Of riding their wake, letting them ride yours. How much love and pride she has for her pack, big and small. Blood and chosen.

She watched these whales swim, and she sees kindness. It’s always there, buried under frustration and anger and resentment. It gets chipped away and bruised and deflated, but it’s there. She sees enormously huge, powerful animals that have no thoughts of pulling men under water, pulling off arms, or wailing in the far corners of their safe prison. Without captivity, without containment, without manipulation, there is a peace emanating from every flexed muscle, a peace that can be described as gentleness. Strong and gentle, strong and kind, strong and peaceful – they are not mutually exclusive, in fact most beautiful when combined. Her soul thinks of two pound little babies who didn’t need one drop of oxygen to survive. Thinks of 120-pound Akita mixes that would gently paw a kitten to play. Thinks of waves strong enough to take you under, but only push you to shore. Thinks of muscles than can lift hundreds of pounds but are used only to squeeze tight enough for a warm hug. Thinks of heartbreak that is big enough to harden a pulse with anger, but instead merely opens the very heart it broke to love. To love more. To love better, to love strongly. This is the kind of beauty she loves, the kind worth the search.

She watched these whales swim, and she sees 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015…She sees time flow by in the wake of the water. Passing so quickly. She sees herself, kindness deep in her heart, resisting a captivity she felt encroaching. Being true to herself, to her story, to her heart, even when a different response from her is wanted. Wishing she could give others permission to step outside of their captivity – realizing she can’t, realizing that for man, unlike these whales, the most important permissions come from ourselves, not others. She sees storms and sunshine, she sees herself marching forward enjoying the beauty of the rain with skin tanned by the sun. She sees a woman with pride and resolve and contentment. She sees three little being following behind her, learning from her example as much as her words, ensuring her example and words are consistent. She finds kindness when the reigns are tightest, kindness is her trick to loosen those reigns, her trick when she needs to escape a suffocating harness. She sees a journey she enjoys and a story that she won’t let anyone else edit. She sees clear and open water ahead. She smiles, with tears flowing down, knowing how to swim and remembering how much she likes to, how fast she can go, how much fun it can be, all the places it can take you.

But in those moments, as the credits rolled for Blackfish, she cries simply. She cries simply as her heart breaks for the whales held captive and she cries simply as her heart bursts with warmth for the ones in open waters.