Leave The Light On

Finding Home in Unexpected Places | A Mindful Travel Reflection

There was something about the porch lights.

As my husband and I rode through the American South, my husband piloting our bright yellow motorcycle named Indy, each mile unfolded ahead of us as I watched town by town drift by.

Charleston. Savannah. New Orleans.

Beautiful historic homes with so many stories to tell, stood proudly behind their verandas, their columns and shutters on display for passers-by and curious travellers like us to admire.

An then I noticed something.

The porch lights were on.

It wasn't dusk or early morning. In most cases, it was the middle of the day.

At first, I thought it was simply part of the charm. But then I began noticing them everywhere.

Old homes, Newer homes. Grand homes. 

Little pools of light glowing against the daylight, drawing me into the warmth and coziness these homes seemed to extend out to me.

There was something strangely comforting about seeing them as we rode through unfamiliar streets, so far from home.

They seemed to soften the distance between where I was and where I had come from.

These cozy porch lights felt like an invitation.

You're welcome here.

Keep riding.

Keep looking.

Keep going.

The meaning I gave the lights

Later, I discovered there was a practical and historical reason for many of these lights. In parts of the South, illuminated gas lamps and porch lights have become part of preserving the character and aesthetic of another time.

 Gas and oil lighting were once an important part of Southern cities such as New Orleans, Charleston and Savannah, and today these beautiful old lighting fixtures continue to form part of the character being kept alive in these places.

(Another reason, I fell in love with this part of the world!)

But by the time I discovered this, I had already given the lights my own meaning.

Because somewhere along those Southern roads, I realised I wasn't just looking at the lights outside those beautiful homes.

I was thinking about the one inside of me.

And wondering how often, in the busyness and uncertainty of life, we forget to leave our own light on.

Maybe that's what travel does.

It takes you far enough away from the familiar that you begin to see the familiar differently.

From the back of a motorcycle, I had time to notice things I might normally have rushed past.

A doorway.

A garden.

A woman sitting on her veranda.

The sounds of the city.

The warmth of the evening.

And those porch lights.

Perhaps that's one of the gifts of slowing down.

We begin to notice what has been there all along.

The light we carry

It made me wonder about the light we carry within ourselves.

We all have one. Whatever we choose to call it.

Our spirit. Our intuition. Our sense of self. Our aliveness. Our hope. Our quiet knowing.

And yet life has a way of asking us to turn it down.

Sometimes gradually.

Perhaps through disappointments, taking a wrong turn, or moving through a season that doesn't go to plan.

Through the version of ourselves we think we should have become by now.

Until one day, we look around and realise we've been living with the dimmer switch turned all the way down.

We've forgotten that our light is ours to keep alive.

Maybe we don't need to be shining brightly every day.

Perhaps there are seasons for resting, for being quiet, for retreating, or when all we can manage is a tiny glow.

And maybe that's enough.

Because a porch light doesn't have to brighten the whole street.

It just has to light up its own space.

A tiny signal in the darkness saying:

Here I am.

There is warmth inside.

You can find your way home.

Back to you.

Leaving the light on

When we eventually returned home, I couldn't let the idea go.

I wanted a porch light.

Not because our house needed more light, but because I wanted the reminder.

I wanted to bottle a moment and have it with me back home.

A small, physical symbol waiting outside the front door.

A light left on during the day.

A light left on simply because it could be.

Maybe that's what we sometimes need in our own lives, too.

Something that reminds us who we are when we sometimes forget.

A morning ritual.

A walk without our phone.

A meditation.

A journal.

A breath.

The small things.

Mindful Living, I've come to realise, isn't always about changing who we are.

Sometimes, it's just noticing when we've wandered away from ourselves and gently finding our way back.

So yes, I have my porch lights.

And every time I see them glowing, I remember that journey through the American South.

The beautiful homes.

The open roads.

The miles between here and there.

And the quiet reminder that found me somewhere along the way.

Leave the light on.

A moment to carry with you

When life feels uncertain, pause.

Take a breath.

And ask yourself:

What would it mean to leave my light on today?

Perhaps it's resting.

Perhaps it's saying no.

Perhaps it's taking yourself outside.

Perhaps it's returning to a practice you've forgotten.

Or perhaps it's simply remembering that even when your light feels small, it is still there.