My name is Alex Bon. I am a writer, a psychologist, and the keeper of this quiet space. The stories you find here are reflections, a space to see yourself.
But for any reflection to appear, there must be a source of light. That thought is what brought me to the image of a lighthouse.
My work here is to tend its light—the stories and reflections you find on this site.
A lighthouse does not steer your ship or promise a safe harbor. Its task is more honest: it holds its ground, so you can find yours.
Its light exists to illuminate three things:
- The shape of the rocks — the patterns that lie in our path.
- The outlines of other ships — to remind us we are not alone.
- And most importantly, the reflection of our own vessel in the water.
This is why I write.
The Story of the Keeper
My path to this shore was never part of a plan.
It began unexpectedly, in the army. Among the polished boots and the rigid drills, I learned a simple truth: inner balance does not depend on outer circumstances. The universe enjoys hiding its greatest insights in the most unlikely places. I have traveled widely, lived in Yemen, India, and England. I have built and lost. I have been married and divorced. Today, I live and write in Ukraine, tending this light amidst the chaos of war.
This journey hasn't made me a guru. It has simply taught me to recognize the threads in other people's stories that once ran through my own. And for the last ten years, I've lived on my own. Well, not entirely on my own—I live with my cat.
Tending the Light
This lighthouse is kept running by those who find value in its light. Everything I create is free, without paywalls or exclusive content. This is not a transaction.
If you feel this work is necessary, here are a few ways to help keep the light burning:
- Become a Reader: Join my reader circle for free and receive stories as they are born.
- Become a Patron: Your support helps me dedicate more time to writing and ensures this beam continues to shine for everyone.
- Explore the Designs: Carry a piece of this space with you.
Thank you for being here. Thank you for standing watch with me.
The Door
The lighthouse is for everyone. It shines for ships I will never know. That is its job.
But at the base of the lighthouse, there's a small door you'd mistake for part of the wall until you get up close. It doesn't lead up to the lamp. It leads to my kitchen.
It doesn't smell of sea and wind in there. It smells of coffee, old wood, and, if you're lucky, something good to eat. There's a perpetual mess of books and mugs on the table, but there's always room for one more cup. A man in an old sweater sits there. Not the keeper. Just Alex.
This door is never locked.