The lighthouse stands as a lonely sentinel at the fraying edge of the world, a vertical defiance against the horizontal chaos of the sea. For centuries, these structures were the pulsing heart of maritime safety, their sweeping beams of light cutting through the “soupy” thickness of Atlantic fog and the predatory darkness of moonless nights. But beyond their utility, lighthouses represent a unique psychological landscape—a life lived in the extreme periphery. To be a lightkeeper was to embrace a radical form of solitude, where the only neighbors were the shifting tides and the screaming gulls, and where the passage of time was marked not by clocks, but by the rhythmic…