Hello folks who wonder whether whales are always having a whale of a time,

What is it about whales that captures our imagination? Surely it's more than just their impressive size and resistance to body shaming. What is it that sparks joy in both adults and children when a whale's tail flashes in the distance? I had countless unanswered questions, so when I had the chance to join a pelagic birding trip, I pretended in front of fellow birders that watching tiny birds on the ocean horizon was what truly made my life worthwhile.

When we're born—and even after we outgrow the constant crying of infancy—we begin to see a world brimming with endless possibilities. We believe that all our dreams will come true, that every wish will be fulfilled, and that the celebrities we admire might even become our friends. We imagine our social media accounts boasting millions of followers, with every post receiving countless likes. And we view wars as nothing more than distant tales from history books. In short, our hearts overflow with hope.

We believe that every time we go out to see the whales we will have an experience like this.

Or this.

But life has its own unexpected plans. Once you start your first job, you'll find that your days feel as dull and mundane as the scene you'll witness during most of your whale-watching trip.

Even the people on the boat who believed every photo they click today would flood their drought-stricken social media with likes are beginning to lose hope, convinced that life is rigged against them.

But life is strange. Just when you begin to wonder if enduring its dullness is worth it, it surprises you with an unexpected opportunity. It might be a direct message from your high school crush, a series of resignations at work that clears the way for your promotion, or even your social media post about your new puppy garnering more likes than all your previous posts combined.

In this case, we noticed a flurry of activity as California sea lions began porpoising—a behavior in which they leap out of the water in a series of jumps—and we turned our attention to the commotion.

Fortunately, I don't have that problem since success is still eluding me. Sigh.

After the brief moment of chaos, we endured another two hours of what we often describe as the slow passage of time, watching life pass by without any purpose — when nothing seems to bring a smile to your face anymore.

Just as you're about to pull the plug, something in the distance stops you. It's a pod of Risso's dolphins, simply doing what dolphins do—wasting their days instead of chasing a college degree, piling on student debt, or fueling the nation's economy. "Contribute something to society!" I yelled. In that moment, I realized—I’m just turning old.

These days, it's all about clickbait—even capturing your friends' attention requires a dramatic announcement like, "I'm dropping everything and moving to the Amazon rainforest with a tribe!" Meanwhile, the trip guide was determined to attract seabirds, ensuring that those paying premium prices for the tour and expensive telephoto lenses got their money's worth. He spread chum beside the boat, and this oily bait formed a slick on the water, with the wind carrying its odor for miles.

And sure, while nature or life may occasionally throw in an unexpected spectacle that leaves you momentarily awed, let's be honest: most of the time you're just pretending you're not thinking about how weird it is that you're paying to see a giant mammal do tricks, all while embracing mixed feelings of joy, boredom, and existential musings.