Sitting in Kairos Time

written on 23 May 2021

By the calendar, I have 30 days left before my Change of Command and Retirement Ceremonies. By my appointment book, I probably have 60 days worth of stuff I need to do before I'm "ready" for 22 June 2021. By my heart, I don't know that I will ever be ready for that date...or maybe I want it to be tomorrow. Either way, I definitely have a sense that time is running at a funny pace right now. 

Last week I went to the first Change of Command I was able to make this year, mostly in support of the outgoing CO, but also to spy a little on their set up to see how we can possibly fit the crew and guests on to our flight deck. As the CO stood to make his remarks, it finally started to sink in for me...that will be me in a month. I took a few very helpful reminders of people to thank from listening to him, and definitely admire his ability to get through the emotion of the moment. I can only hope for that much grace.

And then the next day, CAPT Dash called me to talk through highlights from my career to help him prep his comments for my retirement. I'm so lucky he was willing to take this task on for me. His experience, energy, perspective, and sense of humor all make him such a wonderful choice of speakers to help highlight my last 22 years. As we closed out the very nearly two hour conversation (that he would take that much time to start the prep for his remarks is incredible!), he asked if there was anything specific I wanted him to say about my time on VIGOROUS since the Change of Command commentary was likely to cover most of that. I told him just that I was leaving from exactly where I wanted to. He asked me to explain. And that's where things got...emotional? challenging? overwhelming? yes, probably all those for me. 

I don't remember exactly how I responded, but as I think about it now, I figure it went something like this: every time I think about leaving the cutter community, never getting back underway on a Coast Guard ship as a member of the crew, I feel this devastatingly aching loss in my chest...like someone is reaching into my ribs and yanking out my heart...and then I realize it's my own hand because this is my decision. I know it's the right one and it is so damn hard and painful. Both are true. Deeply, authentically, fundamentally true. I am losing, willingly walking away from that inexplicable alchemy of being part of something greater than myself, working with an ever-changing team doing a hard job in a demanding, dangerous, mind-blowingly beautiful environment that will fuck your world while simultaneously offering a balm to the soul. We all talk about the amazing sunrises and sunsets, the sparkle of the Milky Way against that darkest of nights, the wonder of marine life, and all the physical beauty of the ocean. We talk about the wonderful people we meet and work with and the bond barely scratched by the term "shipmate." We talk about the meaningfulness of the mission, of rescuing mariners at sea, and being the responders where few people ever even get to go. We talk about the power of teams to get those dangerous missions done, the power of facing challenges with other dedicated professionals that help us all achieve more than we could alone. 

When you mix all those ingredients in the bowl of a Coast Guard ship, the resultant experience is so much more than the individual parts. It becomes an experience beyond words, a quicksilver resonance that defies encapsulation in mere human expression, and vibrates in my bones making me feel indisputably alive and incandescent. As I said in my last PATSUM CO's comments, without it I am once again a mere dirt-bound mortal. 

I'm not sure the reality ever fully lived up to my expectation of belonging, but it didn't not either. How much of feeling different was in my own head from being female in a male-dominated environment? How much more of that incandescence could I have sucked up if I tried a little harder? Been a little better? Stayed around a little longer? Cared a little more? That is one of the beauties of my memory -- the sucky parts of the challenges have mellowed into a fine patina with time, so that mostly the best parts of sea stories glow the brightest. 

I doubt I've written my last attempts at trying to explain the magic of being underway on a cutter. It is a big part of me...but not all of me. And it's time to give the rest of me a chance to see what she's got.