On Being Your Own Beacon

Light for the Long Haul

Credit: Royal Gazette

20+ miles of shark-infested open sea separate Catalina Island and the California coastline. In 1952, Florence Chadwick decided she wanted to swim the freezing waters.

Setting out, Chadwick was flanked by boats on either side—one spotting for sharks and the other prepared to pull her out at a moment’s notice in the case of injury, extreme fatigue, or the presence of an unwelcome guest.

15 hours into the attempt, a dense fog descended and settled on the surface of the sea. With no beacons or landmarks visible, a disoriented Chadwick began to seriously doubt whether she’d be able to complete the trip. With the encouragement of her mother and a few others sailing alongside her, she persisted.

At least for another hour, until the doubts she managed to keep at bay up until that point eventually broke through and swallowed her resolve. Notifying the crew she wanted out, they pulled her from the waves. Equal parts exhausted and frustrated, Chadwick sat in the boat while the crew triangulated where they were.

Their discovery? Chadwick was less than a mile from her destination when she decided to call it quits. Dejected, Chadwick returned to shore. Speaking to reporters, Chadwick refused to make excuses but referenced the fog, cold water, and the fact she couldn’t see the shore as some of the reasons she was defeated that day.

But she refused to let the defeat linger long. Two months later, she gave it another go.

As with the first attempt, Chadwick encountered the same dense fog. Only this time, she managed to power through and reach Catalina Island. When asked about her success, she said she kept a mental image of the shoreline in her mind. That’s what kept her confident and got her through.

She found a way to be her own beacon.

When I first heard the story of Flo Chadwick in a church sermon, I instantly earmarked it in the Notes app on my iPhone as one I wanted to share one day. It’s the kind of story that appeals to writers and speakers as a great anecdote to deliver a number of life lessons. One of the most obvious being the one the pastor focused on: it takes endurance to get the good part. A good lesson, to be sure (and one touched on in my last two articles: On Creative Endurance and On That Which Abides), but not the one that stuck with me.

No, for the takeaway I couldn’t shake, we go back to the beginning of recorded human history, where we find history’s first hero—Gilgamesh—showing us something similar to Chadwick: the treasure goes to the one who can be their own light.

Credit: Neil Dalrymple

Following the death of his friend, Enkidu, Gilgamesh leaves the city of Uruk and goes off to find Ut-napishti (the Babylonian Noah) and uncover the secret of immortality. Arriving at the mountains near the edge of Earth, Gilgamesh meets the mysterious scorpion-men standing at the gates of the path of the Sun. As threshold guardians, they advise Gilgamesh (like many before them) to turn back.

But Gilgamesh holds firm in his convictions and steadfast in his commitment, choosing, instead, to keep going despite the warnings. It is here that we see the overlap between Gilgamesh and Chadwick.

Entering the mountain path, Gilgamesh proceeds through a period of prolonged darkness. From the translated fragments of the Epic that we have, the dark period’s seemingly endless nature is illustrated by an intentional repetition in the text:

“At one double-hour / the darkness was dense and the light was there none: / it did not allow him to see behind him. At two double-hour / the darkness was dense and the light was there none: / it did not allow him to see behind him / At three double-hour / the darkness was dense and the light was there none: / it did not allow him to see behind him…” (Epic of Gilgamesh, Andrew George translation, p. 73 - 74)

This description of dense darkness and no light is repeated until the eighth double-hour where everything remains the same except this time we are told “he began hurrying.” In the ninth double-hour, it’s the same story of darkness with the addition of the resistance of a “north wind” to illustrate the mounting discouragement that was undoubtedly assailing the hero. The tenth and eleventh double-hour continue the trend.

And then finally, with the arrival of the twelfth double-hour, dawn arrives and the Sun rises. Emerging from this unendurable darkness, Gilgamesh finds himself in a garden of the gods with divine fruit everywhere, symbolic of the treasure received by the incorruptible and unconquerable Self—the Self capable of keeping itself company when its all it has. The Self that deems itself successful by showing up and staying true when everything external has seemingly abandoned it. The Self capable of using its own light as its beacon.

That’s the Self, like Chadwick in her second attempt, that goes the distance and gets the goods.

—

So often in life, we find ourselves in the dark of our endeavors. Little or no light coming from the outside world, we’re left disoriented and wondering if we’re headed in the right direction. We overwhelm our will with questions like: Are we doing something anybody will even like? Is there any point to all this work? Isn’t there something easier we can do?

Doubt creeps in and slowly starts to build as time passes. The temptation to abandon our endeavor grows stronger the closer we get to a breakthrough. And as the story of Flo Chadwick reminds us, all too often, that pressure bullies us into setting aside our dreams (just) before they’re realized.

Which is why we must find something within to sustain us. An inner fire un-reliant on the opinions, acceptance, or feedback from the outer world for fuel or direction. For Gilgamesh, it was the promise of what waited for him on the other side of his quest that kept him going through the darkness. For Chadwick, it was holding a vision of the shoreline that got her through the dense fog. For us, it’s keeping close whatever gives us the strength to endure when everything in us wants to quit.

Maybe it’s remembering the people we’re trying to provide for or the ones we’re trying to serve. Maybe it’s holding a vision of the dream we’re working toward or reminding ourselves why we started in the first place.

It doesn’t matter what it is; all that matters is that it’s something that will keep you going when the world goes dark. Something that will keep you creating when there’s no validation to deliver dopamine.

Something that serves as a light for when you need to be your own beacon.