It was one of those internet short videos that triggered me.

A group of people in a small rubber zodiac were wobbling, clinging to the ropes on the sides of their craft, trying to be as stationary as possible in open water.

Nearby, a whale blew its spray high into the air, dissipating as the passengers cheered.

I leaned into my phone, watching enviously.

I am there now, too.

I have long loved the ocean, and have lived many years by the Gulf.

A favorite pastime is to float on my back, nothing but sky above, and the steady sound of my heartbeat as the water carries me… gently, gently rocking me. I can hear the skittering of tiny creatures on the sand below me, or maybe fish searching for food in the pristine white silica.

The world is muted, and it’s just me, cradled in the silken waters that bead off my fair skin.

This scene before me is much more chaotic.

A humpback whale has steadily risen to the surface from unseen depths.

The dark surface of the whale is barely discernable from the deep blue of the water, but as it gets nearer, it glides alongside the zodiac.

Now it is barely touching the boat, and the passengers are reaching out to touch the whale, with its hide speckled with white and grey barnacles.

The huge mouth is closed as it continues to roll over, and then there it is – the eye!

The eye of the great mammal is open, and my heart stops for a second – oh! How I wish I could really be there.

I want to be seen by this great humpback whale.

This creature that has swam thousands of miles. A whale that dives to the depths of the ocean, and has seen things no man or woman on earth has ever seen, now has its eye fixed on the zodiac. On the passengers.

Unblinking. A great, dark orb, shining in the sun.

I want to be seen by a humpback whale.

I want to be seen.