Lighthouses and Leviathans

A Voyager's Guide to Self

There's an allure to the open sea that tugs at the soul.

Last week, I found myself aboard a vessel off the coast of Maine, searching for whales.

Hours passed, the horizon unchanging, anticipation building with each passing wave. Just as hope began to wane, we encountered two Fin whales - the second largest species in the world. The air crackled with a mixture of awe and excitement as the massive creatures surfaced near our comparatively fragile boat.

Fin Whale by Richard Ellis

I've often pondered how, for centuries before GPS, sailors would guide their wooden vessels into the vast unknown, teetering between discovery and oblivion.

The line between adventure and peril was razor-thin, yet they persevered.

We, like those ships of old, are built for adventure - but at what cost? We're designed to weather storms, yes, but also to be battered and reshaped by them.

There's a bittersweet art to getting lost, a necessary risk in misplacing our familiar selves to truly find who we are.

I urge everyone to get "lost at sea" at least once, but I do so knowing the weight of this advice. Storms will come. Crises will test the very fiber of our being. We'll face moments where the comfort of the harbor calls, tempting us to abandon our journey.

An anchor's purpose is complex - it holds steady, but can also trap us.

Good people, our human anchors, face a delicate balance. They must ground us without limiting our growth, knowing when to hold tight and when to let go.

Some of us, fear gripping our hearts, remain perpetually docked, never to taste the salt of the open ocean.

Others find themselves adrift, desperately piecing themselves together before the next tempest hits.

Every explorer, even the greatest, once stood trembling on the deck as a novice.

Our potential lies not in fair weather, but in the heart of the storm. It's there, amid chaos and uncertainty, that we evolve. We emerge not unscathed, but stronger - a patchwork of experiences, scars, and hard-won wisdom.

Find good people, for even the sturdiest ship can lose its way. And remember, in the sea that is life, you're someone else's guiding star too. Be steady, be true, but know that the greatest kindness sometimes lies in letting go.

In "The Chronicles of Narnia," the characters face the ultimate test - to return to safety or sail beyond the known world.

“My son,” said the star, “it would be no use, even though you wished it, to sail for the World’s End with men unwilling or men deceived. That is not how great unenchantments are achieved. They must know where they go and why.”

These words seem to echo with both promise and warning. In our own journeys, this knowledge is both our compass and our burden.

So, as you stand at the precipice of your own adventure, ask yourself: Are you ready to set sail, knowing that what awaits may change you forever? The open sea beckons, promising both wonders and trials. Your journey awaits, but the choice to embark is yours alone.

Find your anchors, the souls who keep you tethered to what matters.

Be an anchor yourself, steady and true.

And when the tide is right, sail out into the vast unknown. For out there, beyond the familiar horizon, your whales are waiting - magnificent, mysterious, and utterly yours to discover.

- Jonathan the Mainstay