Keep the Candle Lit
My main man, Marcus A, wrote in his Meditations of building an inner citadel, a defensible space from life’s many proverbial wildfires, a fortress in which to hold dear the parts of us that we refuse to allow to be taken from us, no matter the strife, misfortune, or cruelty to befall us. It guards the idea that nobody can steal from you your ability to choose how you react to circumstances beyond your control, the way men like James Stockdale endured years of torture. It holds in it the free thoughts of the imprisoned man, the song in the heart of those in bondage, Frankl’s unrelenting love that could not be extinguished by his experience in a place designed for his extermination, and one’s ultimate sense of self. It is where nothing can be perturbed by outside forces.
Yesterday, I listened to a podcast interview with Jonny Kim, decorated Navy SEAL-turned-physician-turned-NASA astronaut. And he told deeply personal stories of his life, including some of his most terrible moments, of which he has some doozies, let me tell you. I was moved to tears far before he ever spoke of his experience in war, then again as he did, and once more when he talked of his struggles once home.
As he recounted his life, I kept thinking about how strong his inner citadel must have become, though like many, if not all, of us, he grew up with fear implanted in his heart through no fault of his own. But he was able to carry on despite his fear and in doing so make it functionally irrelevant. That’s a pretty fine example of courage, which is something he seems to have a lot of, though he’s clearly too modest to ever say that himself.
About halfway through the podcast, I had a realization: Jonny Kim has more than a citadel inside of him. Over his fortress’ great battlements sits a lighthouse if you will, like in Alexandria of old. And it isn’t just him. We all have the same potential. We all can build our own inner lighthouses. I keep mine somewhere near my heart, where I like to imagine my soul resides, where if I asked a room full of people to point to themselves, their fingers would be directed towards. We point to our chests because the essence of who we are is more than the swirling mass of thoughts and processes in our skull-based computers.
In our inner lighthouses, on top of the places where we guard our sense of self, we have the potential and ability to burn brilliantly for others. We can project a guiding light to those lost in the darkness, a path and warning to avoid crashing against the jagged rocks just under the surface and out of our immediate lines of sight. We can help or even save others by simply setting an example and build up from there. Or we can aid people to not make the mistakes we made, at the minimum.
We just must tend to the modest little flame behind the glass. We must make sure it isn’t snuffed out by the misdeeds of those around us who likely do not even know the harm that they do. Remain kind in the face of cruelty, brave when surrounded by cowardice, of good humor when in a sea of scowls, humble in the company of braggarts, generous despite the misers, always in search of knowledge in a world besieged by know-it-alls, compassionate when frustrated, just -- even when it feels lonely, and forgiving of the trespasses of others in addition to forgiving ourselves for our many mistakes, and those we’ve yet to make.
Hate, fear, narcissism, ego, anger, ignorance, divisiveness, obtuseness, you get the gist – all of it diminishes one’s light. We keep the candle lit by being a decent human, a good neighbor, a curious traveler. And if we can try even a little bit to do the above, our flames will burn brighter. Maybe not to the level of a SEAL/physician/astronaut, but to paraphrase one, a giant leap can also be made with small steps.
And when you carry your own light inside you, the darkness isn’t as much of a worry.
