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Posts Tagged ‘motivation’

Anything less is to do nothing

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is a dragonfly in the morning

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The old lighthouse sits on Cockspur Island on the coast of Savannah, GA.  In reality it sits on its own island, a spit of land that at low tide might make up one-third of an acre.  At high tide the little spot of land disappears.

There’s a narrow trail that runs behind Fort Pulaski that will take you to a point across the water that lies about 400 feet from the lighthouse.  The sandy trail follows a thin line of trees, oaks and palmettos and scrub brush, that ends at open salt marsh and continues through the grass as a trail of broken, white oyster shells.  It was raining buckets when I arrived, but eventually a break in the weather gave me a chance to reach the point.  It was early morning, and under the rainy circumstances, it was just me and the lighthouse.  I quickly set up my tripod, mounted my camera, and began snapping pictures.  I didn’t have much time.  More rain was on its way.  It probably took me about 15 minutes to get the shots I wanted, and during that time, the solitude of my situation settled upon me with a sense of reverence.  The open expanse was warm and windy and wet, and I could smell the salty air.  I stepped away from the tripod, and I took a moment to regard the old lighthouse.

It had been over 50 years ago that I had first seen it.  I was a small boy riding in the back seat of my parents’ car on the way to the beach.  In those days the lighthouse was clean and white, and it seemed mysterious and lonely standing out there all by itself.  As I looked down upon it, passing over the Lazaretto Creek bridge, the lighthouse seemed to look back at me.  And so year after year, and time after time, as I passed by, the lighthouse and I looked back at each other.  I saw it endure the rains and the winds and the tides, the sun and blue sky, the hot and the cold, even a few hurricanes.  It saw me with a beach shovel, years later using a new drivers license, and eventually celebrating my graduation from high school.  It saw me pass by with happiness and hope, and it saw me pass by with sadness and despair.  I got married and moved away, but on visits to my hometown the lighthouse saw me pass by with a beautiful wife and two small kids.  I would turn toward them in their car seats behind me.

“Look at the old lighthouse, guys.”

Those kids have since grown up and moved away.  They have their own towns now.

I stood there remembering those old times, but off in the distance, lightening cracked a jagged blue steak through the sky, and thunder rumbled my way like a bowling ball rolling across a hardwood floor.  The lighthouse and I had had our pause.  Life was telling us that it was on its way.  I removed my camera from the tripod, shoved it into my backpack, and threw it on my back.  I pulled in the legs of my tripod and threw it over my shoulder.

I looked at the lighthouse one more time, and it looked back at me.  As a kid it always seemed so mysterious, but now, after 50 some odd years, it had become a beacon in my life.  It is weathered and beaten and much of the paint has flaked away, but it has stood against time and the elements.  It has demonstrated the true meaning of perseverance.

“Take care, old friend,” I said, and it said the same to me.

I turned and started my way back.

The old lighthouse watched me leave.

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about the joy of just being

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…waiting for the rain

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…and then there’s green.

Life is about noticing the difference.

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alone6Where you didn’t know anyone?

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