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Keeping the Lighthouse

I would keep a lighthouse.

Don’t really know a lot about them, about what it takes to keep one, to do the job. I’ve lived my whole life in the precise middle of the United States, unaffected by their charm. They’re a coastal thing, lighthouses.


For sale in the UK.

I do understand they’re mostly a thing of the past. Many have fallen into disrepair, not just because of neglected and expensive maintenance needs, but also the advancements at sea that have rendered the use of them less necessary. But find one for me anyway, somewhere—my soul has always been drawn to Maine—with a small vintagey cottage at its trunk. That’s where I’d live, contendedly.

I would operate the beacon of light, I would do my best to navigate others safely. That would come first, at odd hours in the dark I would do my duty proudly. I would do the necessary bits to maintain it all, bringing in help when required, that’s how I would build my circle of acquaintances. And when no light was needed, if everything was in order and I could let it be, I would hunker down into my quiet cottage and write. Just give me WiFi and a stout coffeemaker. Novels and pens and journals. Easy snacks and an open mind, warm quilts and a faded, well-worn decor. I would be supremely inspired — and at peace — in a place like that.

It would be the best of two worlds: work that mattered, paying enough to exist, and living a simple, creative life.

I would keep a lighthouse.


This post originally appeared January 7th of this year on my blog Woman, Determined.

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