To the fierce moods of the sea;
Eyes that only close when light
Dawns on lonely hill and tree.
O kind watchers! teach us, too,
Steadfast courage, sufferance long!
Where an eye is turned to you,
Should a human heart grow strong.”
~ last stanza of Lucy Larcom’s poem The Light-houses
There is something about a lighthouse :
solid, sturdy, guiding.
A check against uncertainty and disaster;
a path to safe harbor;
a testament to fortitude and the value of service.
(This is the 4th installment of a series introducing my blog.
Cold and alone, hands dry and cracked (even with gloves on), I stand in front of a packed storage unit. Teetering plastic bins, some caving in under the weight of those above, others cracked from mishandling (cold and plastic are a terrible combination), fight for space with wood and foam scenery wrapped in those paper-thin blue drop cloths. While contemplating having to drag out nine large bins in order to get to just one nestled somewhere in the back, a small truck pulls up. A window rolls down, and I smile. A bald man smiles back. For two years we had worked together as volunteers on a stage crew for our daughters’ dance studio. When I had first arrived, he had been doing it for quite some time, and became my unofficial mentor, informing me of how things were done (and keeping me from losing my mind and giving up). Then he and his family eventually left the studio, while I found myself promoted to stage manager. Two years after that, and I find myself chatting it up with him in front of that disorganized storage unit. The conversation lasts no more than ten minutes, but his last words, before saying goodbye, have stuck with me to this day.
“Remember, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.”
Then he drives away. The sun sets further, while shadows creep up around me. The cold wind stirs. And I remain, by myself, in front of that jam-filled hole in the universe, shivering with a sudden realization.
I was doing the same damn thing that I had been doing for over a decade before this moment: surrendering myself to the whims and dreams of others, and ending up cold and alone. It was time to break this cycle, and put my goals first.
Though not the first of my many lighthouses these past five years, he was one of the more imposing ones. That person ended up directing me down a clear path along a stretch of unfamiliar rocky coast. Without his words at that moment, I would have missed it.
If we are willing and able to gather and analyze these kinds of insightful chance encounters, let them brew and ferment in our mind, and pour them into our soul, this collection of fateful moments will coalesce into their own source of illumination, the radiance of which can be wielded by our own hands.
And that’s what I have done these past five years. Moved from one to another, following their guiding lights along the treacherous beaches and shoals. But also studying their designs, understanding their output. Taking mental note of their positions, arrangements, and directions. How they were constructed, and when they were completed. Committing it to memory.
Now this knowledge has become my personal lantern, to supplement the range of future lighthouses.
Some day it will become the lamp of my own lighthouse.
I began this story with a tall, imposing lighthouse—a single person uttering a simple phrase. I conclude it with the following. At my fortieth birthday celebration, a former co-worker and his wife walked up to me to say goodbye. Besides the usual pleasantries and offers of thanks, they both left me with these words, that I have kept close to my heart ever since:
“You should get back to teaching.You need to be in front of a classroom.”
Of all the lighthouses I have encountered these past five years, although this one may have been the oldest and smallest, so far, it has shown the brightest.
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