On a crisp, brilliant day in November, I descended the bluff and spotted a crowd lined up on Rodeo Beach, their formation too precise for a casual tour. It looked almost like they were searching for something—until I saw the large red and white RESCUE shields.

My stomach tightened. A rescue effort? A stranded seal? A beached whale? I hurried closer.

Within earshot, I finally heard the lead scientist making a speech and spied the two large dog crates at one end of the crowd, furthest from the waves.

That’s when I realized they weren’t saving; they were releasing.

Two juvenile sea lions, previously suffering from bacterial infections, had been rehabilitated at the Marine Mammal Center. Now, they were ready to return to the wild.

The scientist wrapped up his appeal, dutifully gave instructions for finding their institute online, and stepped back.

The dog crates opened, and all that could be heard was a whisper from the wind and surf. The collective bated breath of the three dozen onlookers, patrons, and high school students there assembled created a palpable tension as all eyes gazed into the shadow of the open crates.

They emerged slowly, tentatively, the yellow California sun reflecting off their light tan coats. Their obsidian eyes absorbed all the light there was to see and gave nothing in return.

They each took small steps and looked around in confusion. How strange we must have seemed to them. Then, as if suddenly realizing their purpose, they took off, lumbering initially, then sprinting into the foamy froth.

At first, I pitied them as they struggled against the cold, heavy surf, their tiny bodies dwarfed by the walls of crashing water.

But then I remembered—this isn’t a struggle. This is their home. They’re going home.

California Sea Lions being released by the Marine Mammal Center — California sea lions being released by the Marine Mammal Center

Then a strange thought occurred to me. What if our whole lives are that period these sea lions experienced in their convalescence? What if all our struggles—our triumphs and our failures, all we hope to achieve and all we’re trying to prove—exist only within this temporary world, guided by forces we barely understand?

And then, just like that, it’s all over. We slip beneath the surface, back to where we truly belong.

We’re all complicated people. Each of us is in the process of trying to recover from some setback, from some injury, from some dis-ease--the physical, mental, or emotional kind, or a combination of all three. We’re all recovering from damage sustained while living. The accumulation of scar tissue over ages of wounds, seen and unseen, at some point becomes too much to bear. Sometimes it feels like we’re suffocating under the weight of our own choices.

But beyond all that, where we all want to go is home. We all want to go home.

And so, as I watched those two tiny beings slip beneath the surf and disappear—the cheers of the high school students ringing out and the scientists embracing one another—I realized how magical and powerful some moments can be, especially if we don’t see them coming.

We got to send these two back to where they belong. And it felt like something important.