Lighthouse Keeper

From the time I was a fetus, until I was about 8 years old, I went to midcoast Maine every summer. Each year, I would go out on the row boat with my dad, watch the mysterious phosphorescent glow in the dark ocean waters, and scramble around the rocks at Pemaquid Point Lighthouse. And sometimes I would just sit, and listen to the waves crash violently against the rocks. I remember walking through the lighthouse museum in awe. The big, funny shaped pieces of glass, the winding spiral staircase, and the stories of just what that modest tower on the rocks had done. One little light could save so many...

When I was about 7, I wrote a story about what it would be like to be a lighthouse keeper. For a time in my youth, I thought being a lighthouse keeper was the best job in the world and I wanted to be the best lighthouse keeper ever!

I spent hours pondering what my life would be life, isolated on a rocky coastline. My entire existence was to ensure that my lighthouse functioned properly all of the time. Many ships depended on me to guide them to safety! My light would shine throughstorms, fog, and the darkest nights to warn sailors of the dangers. I would be the unsung hero, saving millions from a watery grave! I wouldn't be lonely however, because in addition to the comfort of my higher calling, I would have a loyal dog as a companion. Of course! What a flawless, delightful fantasy in which to lose myself as I lay awake contemplating my greater purpose at 7 years old.

I think I was mostly attracted to the idea that I could help people without actually being with them. To clarify, I was a disembodied guide. I could keep people at a safe distance, but still help them. I tend to do this in my life. I'm a big shiny light that if you were a bug, it'd attract you like a heroin addict. But, in those case, it was far away, impersonal, but caring and protective. In the metaphor of my life, I'm the one who built the dangerous rocky coast line around to protect myself. But that doesn't mean I don't want to help people!

As I grew older, I realized how much I relied on people. They gave me a sense of communion and belonging, but also a measuring stick. If I could be like "blank", I would be the best student/daughter/employee/girlfriend EVER! So I would try to emulate that person. Sounds harmless right? Well, it's mostly harmless. In my experience, I've learned that if you spend a lot of time comparing yourself to the best of others, you miss out on the best of yourself. You degrade yourself if you are not like them.

So, I worked on that. I worked on not worrying about being like them, and just being my best self. (and being the best friend I could possibly be!)  But lately I've noticed that I don't want to be like them, but I want them to like me. I NEED them to like me. I seem to aim low and expect that everyone on the entire planet that I come in contact with must like me for me to have any self value. Awesome.

I think Bill Cosby said it best when he said "I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody." I try to please everyone. I bend over backwards and go so far out of my way to make everyone happy. And I've been doing it for so long. One day, I woke up and realized how exhausted and unhappy I was. It's different than constantly comparing and berating yourself, but trust me, it's not any better in the long run. So, I'm working on letting go.

My other problem with running away and being a lighthouse keeper is that I am a social being. I love meeting new people, hearing their stories, and sharing my own with them. If I was isolated to a giant glowing rock of solitude, I know I would get horribly lonely. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not THAT entertaining. (Without an audience, that is.)

I want my friends around to tell jokes with and have fun. But I'm constantly exhausted by trying so hard to get everyone in the world to like and accept me. So what do I do? How do I find the balance between loneliness and gratifying solitude? One way I've found solitude is by running. It's my own way to separate myself from others and have some serious "me" time. I run for HOURS. And most of the hours I spend thinking about how I can become a better person, or what I want to eat when I get back, or what I would say to Damon Salvatore if I ever met him in person. And some of those hours are spent zoning out and listening to catchy pop music. But my hours of solitude help me define the line. Running can make me feel lonely sometimes, but then I notice how far I've come, or how beautiful the scenery is, and I remember how blessed I am.

Have I clearly defined the line between needing people or just wanting them? No, but it's a journey. As I've learned countless times, recognition is the first step. Baby steps. Hopefully, one day I won't be held to the whims of others, and be true enough in myself to enjoy my solitude without running 10 miles. But, I'll stick with the running for now.