I’ll never know if the whale that I saw in Mexico was the mythical 52. I didn’t hear it sing and even if it had, I wouldn’t have understood its song. But I did see it; it was there, and then it was gone. After that I had a small connection with this other lonely, sad woman, although we didn’t drink tea together as we might have done in the movie version of that moment. We spoke and then we both went about our day. Yet I felt refreshed by seeing something bigger than myself and my life and by having shared that moment with someone else. It was a turning point. Maybe it snapped me back to myself. On the way back to my room, I noticed how carefully someone had trimmed the grass. I breathed in the scent of the gardenias. It was beautiful. At the casita, my friend was awake; we ordered coffee and talked about this and that and the whale, and we laughed.