A lighthouse doesn't leave its station. Neither should you.
- Nick Smith
- Jul 14
- 4 min read
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years I’ve been in this world of self-work. Reading the books. Doing the exercises. Collecting the tools.
And yet.
When something real hits. When an experience comes into my space that truly threatens my peace, the old wiring still sparks. The old patterns, like ghosts in the machine, show up ready for their scene. It’s humbling. Infuriating.
It forces a stop. A full stop.
And I have to ask the question. The only question that matters in that moment.
Where am I operating from?
Is this my old wounds, my traumas, crying out to be seen, to be understood? Or is this me, the man I’m trying to be, trying to learn the lesson and teach it as I learn it?
To serve myself, yes, but also anyone else walking through a similar fire.
This is the practice.
This is the work of the 12 Journeys I follow.
It’s not a cure. It’s a compass. And even with the compass in hand, the path is hard as hell. I am grateful for it. And it is hard.
In those moments, I have to go back to the basics. Back to the landmarks I built for myself when the sea was calm. I wrote this a while back. A map. A message in a bottle to my future self.
Today, I need to read my own words. Maybe you do too.
The Lighthouse
A lighthouse felt it wasn't seen,
So it wandered out to sea.
It found a ship where it was at,
But as it approached, the ship would flee.
What is wrong? It said out loud.
Is my light not good enough?
I came out here to meet with you,
And, dear ship, these seas are rough.
Don’t wander off into the sea,
Stay where you are, and you will see,
The ships will come, they need your light,
Stay on the shore and shine so bright!
Oh, lighthouse bright, stand tall and true,
Ships rely on the light from you,
Stay on the shore, your beacon strong,
Guiding safely, all night long!
The ship, confused, said what do you mean?
Aren’t you close to land?
No, said the lighthouse, I came to you.
I don’t quite understand.
The ship said to the lighthouse,
It sounds like there’s a complication
That’s bigger than us two
You cannot leave your station.
That’s not what lighthouses do.
Don’t wander off into the sea,
Stay where you are, and you will see,
The ships will come, they need your light,
Stay on the shore and shine so bright!
Lighthouse shining, don't you roam,
Ships need you to guide them home,
From the shore, your light must gleam,
In the dark, a constant beam!
Ah, said the lighthouse, I see that now,
My leaving has a cost,
So I must get back to being me
Before a ship is lost.
It ventured back and took its place
Upon the cliff, so high,
and shined brighter than it ever had
In the stormy dark night sky.
Don’t wander off into the sea,
Stay where you are, and you will see,
The ships will come, they need your light,
Stay on the shore and shine so bright!
Lighthouse shining, don't you roam,
Ships need you to guide them home,
From the shore, your light must gleam,
In the dark, a constant beam!
The ships were safe, their peace restored,
The lighthouse held its post,
A lighthouse shining where it is
Is what was needed most.
Don’t chase others with your light,
Just shine from where you are,
Be you like a lighthouse would,
And they’ll come from near and far.
The brutal lesson isn't in the lighthouse's good intentions. It's in the ship's reaction.
“You cannot leave your station. That’s not what lighthouses do.”
The helper became the hazard.
My cliff, my station, is here. Social media. This space. If I am to stand as a lighthouse, I have to do whatever it takes to make sure the light shines bright. And that means understanding a new piece of the metaphor.
If a lighthouse leaves its front door open, the wind gets in and the candle burns out.
The work isn't just standing on the cliff. It's protecting the flame inside. It's locking the front door so my light isn't extinguished by external sources. This is the real meaning of integrity. From the Latin integer, "whole, untouched." You cannot be a beacon if you are not whole.
You cannot shine for others if your own light is sputtering out because you let the whole fucking storm inside.
So the work continues. Shutting the front door. Doing my inner work, my 12 Journeys.
Writing my own story so I can stand here, on my cliff, and shine in my own way. From my own unique position.
It’s the only thing that works. The only thing I have to offer.
Where have you left your front door open?
Follow the journey back to the shore.
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