Be Your Own Lighthouse

The Lighthouse Keeper

In the lonely twilight hour,
Looking forth from his old tower,
When the sunset glow has faded in the west,
Then he sees the distant things
Steeped in purple of the kings,
While the breezes come to chill at night's behest.
Then the color from the air
Sinks to—God but knows just where,
And the interval of deepened twilight grows;
But the gleaming streaks of light
From his tower of the night
Send their word to every ship that comes or goes.

— Helen Emma Maring

Marshall Point, Andrew Wyeth

This differs from my typical photography posts, but I felt compelled to write it. Lately, I've been feeling the tides of change in my life and work. As I write this, my desk window is wide open, and my little red cardinal keeps popping by to say hello on the branch, curious and watchful as if he has something to say. It's these little moments that bring me back to the present. Despite the changes, I've never felt more grounded in my life or confident in my energy. This energetic shift feels rooted in honoring creative potential and surrendering to the unknown.

It's fair to say that the creative path, whether you're a photographer, an artist, or a writer, isn't the easiest or most straightforward. There's no real structure like in other professions. There isn't a linear path where you apply for this job, get promoted, reach the next manager level, and the progression continues onward. That's not how it works for photographers.

We are our own boss, our own everything. There's no one-size-fits-all, no streamlined path for what we should do or what will work. It is a combination of hard work, experimentation, failures, resiliency, alignment, consistently showing up, and having a vision.

The more I've stepped into that, the more I realize how little I need from others. What I mean by that is that the more I step into my creative power and align myself with my goals, the less I need external validation.

In the visual arts primarily, it's so easy to get caught up comparing ourselves to others—seeing what others are doing, who they've shot for, comparing our style, or even mimicking someone's style, even subconsciously. But the more we step outside ourselves, the more scattered and disconnected we become from our truth and our creative center.

We look to others to help forge our path, thinking, "If they did this, maybe I should too," or "That worked for them, maybe I'll try it." And while there's nothing wrong with being inspired or taking notes, I've grown wary of looking to others for the answers to my own path.

I've learned that focusing on what worked for others, the way they shoot, and their style doesn't necessarily translate for me. It’s not authentic, and rarely is it in my best interest. The only person who truly knows what lights me up, what excites me, and what’s right for me is me, just as you are the only one who holds that truth for yourself.

And that has been one of the biggest revelations since I started my photography business. Everyone will have an opinion. Everyone will have something to say, even if they don't have a clue about the industry or what your vision is.

Of course, having mentors and guides who've traveled a similar path you wish to take is essential. But at the end of the day, it will never be the same path. It will be your version because you are you. You have your own life, history, experiences, and perspective. You have your own life, your own path marked by the moments you've lived, the things you've seen, and the way you've come to understand the world. All of that shapes how you see, how you create, and your relationship with photography.

The more you trust yourself, the more space you create to move with clarity and conviction. Trust becomes the anchor that steadies you in uncertainty and the compass that guides your choices. When you stop outsourcing your worth or direction to the external world, you realize you have far more power in how your life unfolds. Self-agency isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about being grounded in your creative power as a human being, knowing you’re allowed to chart your own course, even when the map is still unfolding beneath your feet. It's acknowledging and accepting that you're the architect of your own life; you are the navigator of your ship. It’s about trusting that you can navigate your stormy waters by following your own beacon of light.

I've spoken about being your own lighthouse in previous posts. My family spent nearly every summer in Maine, braving the frigid water with clenched fists and just taking the plunge with a few whoops and shouts. After collecting sand dollars and chasing tides, we'd pack up the sand-filled car with everything but the weathered driftwood on the beach and spot lighthouses along the coastal drive.

My mother would always point them out, saying, "Look—see the white lighthouse on the cliff?" Our little eyes would scan the horizon until one of us spotted it and called out with delight and pride. A lighthouse is such an iconic image of Maine: a white, sturdy beacon, stoic and strong, able to brave the wildest ocean storms and still beam out its golden light. Forever circling, calling, and beckoning for sailors to return to shore. I'm not sure if they are used in that capacity today or simply stand as a historical marker, but they were vital guides for sailors back in the day.

No matter the fog or torrential rain, the light would still shine, beckoning those who felt lost or adrift at sea back to safety. I imagine relief and hope must have washed over them like the turbulent waters they braved once they saw the light piercing through the fog or rain. They've found their way back home, back to shore, back to safety.

This is what we should strive to be—our own lighthouse.

We reach beyond with the light within us, searching and striving for our vision, yet we're equally called home to our grounded center. Stoic and calm. We can weather and withstand the stormiest, darkest days and still see through the fog. That fog might take the shape of rejection, criticism, rude comments, doubt, or the weight of our insecurities.

Yet we are our own anchor. We come home to ourselves. We can see beyond whatever clouds our view.

We carry that inner knowing of what feels true and aligned. We don’t need the opinions of those we don’t know or trust to dim the light we’re here to shine. We harness our power to call in what we truly desire, and we are quiet in our strength. It’s a gravitational pull to our center, to ourselves. Just think about that image for a second: the light of a lighthouse circling repeatedly, almost creating an invisible force that beckons you closer, pulling you toward its steady glow.

You seek your vision, yet you are grounded where you stand because of that pull.

You are the light you long for, and the safety and certainty you crave.

This is the image I hold in my mind when I'm challenged or amid change: To be that grounded, steady lighthouse for myself. To trust that my intuition and creative power are all I need. To trust that all I need already lies within.

If this resonates with you, I encourage you to step into the image of becoming your own lighthouse—to step into your own self-assurance and be the light you seek, the security you crave, and the validation you need. It's not easy, and this may all sound trite to you, but this concept has quietly reshaped how I move through the world and how I show up creatively. I think it's a continual process, something we’re called to remember and return to in every season of life. You may think this is just a bunch of woo-woo metaphysical nonsense, and I understand, but when you start believing and acting with a sense of agency and knowing, life unfolds differently. It feels and appears different, like you're experiencing life from your center rather than being pulled from the outside in, if that makes sense. If anything, I hope these thoughts spark something for you or maybe reassure you wherever you are on your creative path.

Northeaster, Winslow Homer

The Lighthouse at Two Lights, Edward Hopper