Can A Lighthouse Equal Resistance?
Last week, I celebrated a milestone birthday. A Big One. My 70th. Until this year, I’d never minded birthdays. The negativity seeping into my thoughts about this birthday surprised me. I didn’t want to care and couldn’t explain why I cared. Maybe it’s the number 70.
I have a thing about specific numbers. I prefer even numbers, with eight as my most cherished. The very shape of eight delights me, being two entwined circles, never-ending. Lovely and comforting. Seven, however, is built of two sharp lines to nowhere, open-ended. Perhaps eighty will be an easier milestone?
I asked myself how I wanted to mark this year. A cozy solo retreat maybe in a cabin with a view of the sky and forest at Dorland Mountain Arts in Temecula, not far from my home? On second thought, that could be a lonesome birthday. How about a trip with Bill to New York City? I imagined us bundling up in jackets, scarves, and mittens for a brisk walk across the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan on a cold, clear January day. Or what about a nearby evening of bowling at Surf Bowl in Oceanside with the family? This is an established birthday tradition for me. These ideas swirled around my head in the weeks leading up to the big day. Finally, a picture came into focus.
“I know what I want to do for my birthday,” Bill looked up from his morning glance at the news on his iPad.
“Let’s wander down to Point Loma for a staycation celebration at our very own hometown lighthouse.” Coastal lighthouses had entranced us both during our recent road trip along the California-Oregon coast.
So, on my birthday morning, we hopped into my little white Honda Fit and drove south from Leucadia to the Old Point Loma Lighthouse, which stands on a stunning peninsula high above the bustle of downtown.
A spell came over me as we climbed the stairway into the old wooden house with its small parlor and utilitarian kitchen on the ground floor. Then up to the two tiny bedrooms for parents and children on the upper floor. But the real magic happened while wiggling up the spiral staircase to the intricately cut glass-enclosed light high in the tower. Gazing out the 360-degree circling window, I imagined the first lighthouse keepers of 1855 on a night of blustery winds and pelting rain, attending to the flame. Sailors depended on their light to guide their ships safely to shore in fog, storms, and darkness. Even on this clear, sunshiny day, Bill and I felt the quiet power of the lighthouse.
As we descended the stairs, low tide was approaching, so we bought a few souvenir postcards at the visitor center and made our way down the road to the tide pools. On the rocks, smiling elementary-age school kids gathered around their teacher. They laughed together, answering his questions and sharing ideas about the teeming ocean life and the pull of the tides, which are in sync with the moon's monthly phases.
Smelling the salty sea air and watching these kids with their wind-blown messy hair and colorful, decal-covered backpacks strewn on the rocks beside them, a surge of hope entered me, lifting the dread I’d carried since the November 2024 presidential election results. A warm beacon filled me, easing my worry. Plenty of people are tending lights that lead away from danger, away from fear, and toward entwining circles of better possibilities—lighting a better way. My eyes will remain alert for such lights, leading me toward a shining path of resistance.
How are you this new year? Any lighthouses in your life?
