Guiding Lights: Finding and Becoming Life’s Lighthouses

Guiding Lights: Finding and Becoming Life’s Lighthouses

Where the Columbia River collides with the vast Pacific, jagged cliffs descend sharply to meet a restless ocean. Waters churn—a mosaic of varied blue hues and cottony puffs of sea foam. This meeting of river and sea, powerful and unyielding, creates currents that crash against the rocks with relentless fury, each swell a reminder of the dangerous beauty that defines this place, both mesmerizing and terrifying. And more than anything else, humbling.

On this day, the coastal atmosphere along Washington State’s Long Beach Peninsula was a temperate autumn surprise of sunshine, yet the fierce wind still stung with salt, stabbing my eyes and reddening my cheeks. Gulls called out, their cries swallowed by the wind’s persistent lamentation. Periodic bursts of spray erupted from the rocks below, as if the ocean itself were spatting warnings to anyone who dared approach. This landscape has been the backdrop for hundreds of stories of maritime peril: storms and shipwrecks, a complex combination of breathtaking beauty and formidable force.  

Here, the Columbia Bar, a sandbar that is about three miles wide and reaches about six miles into the ocean, creates a navigational nightmare that has claimed more than 2,000 vessels and 700 lives since 1792.  In response to this dangerous setting, two lighthouses were constructed: Cape Disappointment Lighthouse (1856) and North Head Lighthouse (1898).  They still stand staunch and stalwart— beacons of safety, their lights slicing through the fog and mist, warning sailors of the dangers ahead. I couldn’t help but reflect on the people in my life who, like these lighthouses, have been there for me during stormy times. They are the ones whose steady presence has kept me from crashing into life’s metaphorical rocks, the ones I can count on when everything else feels uncertain.

In a world where the seas of life can often be turbulent, it’s easy to feel lost or overwhelmed. By paying close attention to the people around us—their actions, their words, their consistency—we can begin to identify who our “lighthouses” are. Who are the people who, time after time, show up with a kind word or a gentle nudge in the right direction? These are our guiding lights, the ones we can trust to steer us away from danger. And it’s through mindfulness that we learn to recognize them, appreciate them, and cultivate deeper connections with them.

Mindfulness, too, invites us to consider how we can be a lighthouse for others. It’s a practice of being present and aware of what those around us might need. Sometimes, all it takes is being a stable, compassionate presence—someone who listens without judgment or offers support in a time of uncertainty. Like a lighthouse, we don’t need to solve all the problems or calm all the storms. We simply need to shine our light and be there, a constant in a world that is ever-changing.

Standing in front of the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse, the wind still howling and the sea still crashing below, I felt a sense of gratitude. Not just for the safety it provided sailors, but for the lighthouses in my own life—the people who have guided me through my personal storms. And with mindfulness, I left with the reminder to be that guiding light for others, steadfast and sure.