fiction | life | Personal Musings | writing

The lighthouse keeper

“The sea washes angrily against the rocky shoreline while the wind howls and moans with a painful tiredness. Looking out the small window the only light is the long flash from above me warning the ships to stay awake, be alert and travel onward safely. Although the storm is rising the blackness of night is calming. I feel safe and warm inside the cool, concrete walls, the crackling fire casting an orange hue over my desk. The laptop stares at me the words dancing on the screen. Books line the shelves and Casper, the cat sleeps upon a pile of first drafts next to me keeping me company. The outside world seems far, far way. The city dwellers living their lives rushing to and from, here to there frantically making use of every last second of the day in their bid for happiness. The country and sea lovers going about their business at a calmer pace but still tied to the clock watching, waiting, breathing, living. My life is not perfect here. The solitary and confinement can sometimes confront me in my mind, bickering and twisting words and sounds. But my travels to the nearby village once a week for supplies sees my thoughts settle as I realise I am the lucky one. I write, I sleep, I wonder, I think. There are small jobs and chores but more the tinkering type. The type that make you whistle while you work. Long ago I left the every day world swapping ground hog days for endlessly long days where every minute is soaked up and savoured in the delves of my memory bank. Life can still exist in its purest and most simplest form. Again I wonder, for the umpteenth time – when will we get it?” 


Sometimes I feel like running away from the world. From the never ending groundhog day of work, cooking, cleaning, bill paying, ends meat making,  kid wrangling, husband taming and life on the hamster wheel. It’s not that I don’t love my life, it’s just sometimes it takes too much effort to get through the day. I know I’m not alone, and I know these thoughts don’t mean I will ever run away. But sometimes, the solitary life seems appealing. A life where I could write undisturbed and endlessly. A life where the big jobs are merely little tasks and there is no one to explain to, no one to answer to and no one to account for. Just me. And the cat.

Life as a reclusive lighthouse keeper I’m sure is nothing like the picture I have created in my mind, and that is okay. Sometimes it is just this escapism that gets me through the day.


What’s your escape plan?