Before the days of the automated global positioning systems, the West Quoddy lighthouse saved many a ship from crashing on the rocky shore of Lubec, Maine. As each captain would catch a glimpse of the light cutting luminescent circles in the dark fog, there was a silent thank you and good-bye from each ship. The lighthouse stands alone and content. Its only job is to warn the oncoming ships.

The lighthouse was built in 1808. It balances on a rocky island that protrudes from the sea. Through centuries of being beaten and battered, the red paint on the bottom of the tower has slowly chipped off. The salty sea has stripped off the flimsy paint and left only an old and worn exterior. The windows that used to shine have transformed into mysterious portals into dark abysses.
Today, the seagulls mimic the lights as they circle around the tower and perch upon its balcony. The wrought iron railing of the terrace gives the tower an air of old-world elegance. Like a pole outside a barbershop, or a candy cane, the faded red stripes elongate the eighty-three foot tower. A salty mist is always suspended around the lighthouse and the pungent smell of the sea and fishing net fills the nostrils of the occasional passerby. Like the entrechat of a ballerina, the lights circle around the sky as the lighthouse celebrates two hundred years as the guardian of the sea.
In 1808, the wind and the lighthouse had a tumultuous relationship, mainly consisting of pulling and resistance. The lighthouse would creak, as though defying the wind put it in pain. At first the creaking was thunderous, new, and unexpected, but as time passed the creaking became ritual, and the lighthouse and the wind came to an agreement. Now, almost like they are working together, the lighthouse that was so stable and unmovable in its foundation gently sways with the wind. Like amalgamation, the dance of partners, the lighthouse and wind tendu with one another.

The sea and wind are the only friends, and the only enemies, of the lighthouse. There are beautiful days, when all three, the lighthouse, the wind, and the sea, work in harmony. The sea frolics childishly around the lighthouse while the wind breezes by calmly. The family of elements works and supports one another in perfect unison, but then there are the days when the wind seems angry enough to blow down the lighthouse. The poor sea is confused about whom to support, as it crashes back and forth. The wind seems not to care, but the lighthouse feels the weight of the sea’s turbulent anxiety. Every stormy fight wears the lighthouse down, but in a day, or a week, or a month, the family reconciles and things go back to normal.

It must be lonely to be a lighthouse, only the sea and the sky to accompany you. Every time a ship tries to come close, it seems like the lighthouse repels it. The isolated, yet somehow majestic tower can only be appreciated from afar. The lighthouse sacrifices its own happiness and warns incomers to stay away for their own benefit.

Still, a life like that seems lovely. When the sun is bright and the seagulls flit about, the lighthouse enjoys the best kind of life there is, one where isolation isn’t synonymous with loneliness. There is a point when you are so self-content and so aware that the duty you are here to accomplish is bigger than you. At that point living in your own thoughts seems to be enough. When you live solely with nature, there is no one to judge your actions. When you are alone, there is no façade. Everything you do unveils your true character, and only in isolation can that character grow freely.
Two things the lighthouse will always have are the sea and the wind. The nature of family is to never abandon one another. In this same way the sea and the wind will never leave that tower. The lighthouse works day and night, through fog, rain and thunder. It thrusts ships away –heartbreaking at first– but in the end the life of the lighthouse is fulfilling because it is for the greater good. Each life the lighthouse saves becomes a life that admires it, making the lighthouse a legend. Yet, all alone, like an old man who has already explored the world and is ready to rest, the lighthouse perches in solitude on the harsh waters, peaceful and oblivious to the ships it has saved.