As the title says, this is my first FI post. What is FI you might ask? Financial independence. Sometimes it's combined with RE for "FIRE" which is financially independent, retire early. There is this massive online presence for FI/FIRE (oh hell, this is an absolutely *ridiculous* moment for my "f" key to start getting sticky...harumph! but there is a good FI lesson in that bit of ridiculousness...I bought this laptop in 2010 for grad school -- definitely getting my money's worth from it, especially since my uncle so generously rebuilt it for me before I came out to Bahrain -- it's working Great!, Uncle Heathen).
My sister (as usual...I get my best ideas from her) turned me on to Mr Money Mustache a few years ago. I had been reading Get Rich Slowly for years before that (got disgusted with the site after JD sold it, and am now absolutely THRILLED that he has it back and continues to do great things with it). And then I recently found Rockstar Finance, and Cait Flanders and Choose FI, and all the other super supportive, incredibly creative, amazingly brave and courageous explorers of mindful living. I'm a little shy online, and do more lurking than commenting, but the stories these people tell of their own experiences are inspiring, terrifying, jealous-making, and bring me new ideas about how to approach my own life.
So all that to say, I'm dipping my toe in with this post.
Today is the day I got my first paycheck in the Coast Guard, 19 years ago. I don't remember the exact circumstances...I was in boot camp, and the money probably just showed up in my North Carolina State Employee Credit Union checking account and I didn't even realize it because I was worried about making sure my locker was locked, my boots were shined, and I didn't have any Irish pennants on my uniform so I wouldn't get yelled at by the mean and scary Company Commanders. But if I do the math, I went into boot camp on 24 August 1999, so my first paycheck should have been 31 August 1999 (...which now that I actually think about it, is really highly unlikely because (pre-Direct Access JUMPS, aka Old School) paycut would have been about 21 Aug, so I probably didn't get a paycheck on 31 Aug...however -- never let the truth spoil a good myth. Also...I have the time to write this post right now, and likely won't come 15 September.)
Anyway!!...
My first CG paycheck wasn't much...only like $150 mostly likely because they took out money for uniforms and other accession expenses. But it was steady; I knew it was going to come twice a month and it was going to be enough to pay my bills...especially since free health care came with it.
I was nearly two years past getting my first Masters degree, in Horticulture. I had been living paycheck to paycheck at jobs that weren't going anywhere. I had about $3,000 in credit card debt that I had no idea how I was going to pay down. I would pay a little more than the minimum payment each month, but just kept seeing the balance getting bigger and never going down. I didn't have any student loans, mostly because Berea College, where I got my undergrad degree doesn't charge tuition...or they do, but they offset it with full scholarships for every student because every student works at least 10 hours a week doing campus jobs. And I worked hard during grad school with a second job for most of the time, while still being a teaching or research assistant...and my Mom helped out with making sure I had a place to live when she gave me a $15,000 loan to buy my mobile home. Lot rent was $250 a month.
I was sick of not having a safety net. I wanted financial stability. I wanted health care, so I didn't have to figure out how to pay $100 for a Planned Parenthood visit to get birth control and still have money for the electric bill or rent.
So a steady paycheck, with the opportunity for advancement, and guaranteed health care seemed like a dream. Sign me up!
Fast forward through 10 PCS moves, buying five houses, and selling three, two year-long tours in a tax free zone, maxing out my sea pay on my last ship, two command tours, countless deployments and even more port calls, and I have a seven-figure net worth, as of this month.
I grew up on food stamps and subsidized school lunches, hand-me-down clothes and church-sponsored Christmas presents.
Seven figures is a little surreal.
My Mom did her very, very best to make ends meet, and raise us with boundless love. I could ask her for help, and if it was in her power to do it, she would give me, or any of the three of us kids everything she had. It's not an easy thing for me to admit her generosity...she and I had a difficult relationship. But she taught me to be frugal, how to distinguish between wants and needs, the importance of paying off my credit cards every month, how to write checks and balance a checkbook (back when I still wrote things in my checkbook ledger), and about being a responsible adult. I'm coming to accept that we could have a difficult relationship, and know that she loved me and taught me many, many things. All those things can be true at the same time.
I know she would be thrilled, absolutely, but not overly surprised at my ((to me) stunning and completely unexpected) financial abundance. She always believed in me, usually more than I did in myself.
And for me, now, I think I do a decent job of recognizing the amazing financial abundance that I enjoy, and being thoroughly grateful for the options that gives me. I also recognize my situation is...not typical. I don't have kids, so no college to save for; and if I want more college, I have my GI Bill still to use (yes, I contributed the extra $1,200 back in the day for the $5,400 additional funding...I know a good return when I see one). I own my retirement home outright. No mortgage. I paid cash for it with money my Mom left me (there's another story there about how we were all a little surprised that she had money to leave any of us...not because she didn't save, but because she never made very much). I've had massive luck in the real estate market...and recognize it as luck. I didn't know I was buying a house on the North Shore of Oahu right as the market took off in 2003. I've always just bought what I liked, and somehow, that's worked out for me -- though I know others do not have the same experience.
My options (when it comes to FI and FIRE) are:
-- I can retire from active duty next 1 September, if I choose. I don't *need* to stay any longer on active duty than I actually *want* to, just to fund my future lifestyle.
-- I don't have to get a job when I retire, if I don't want to, because my pension will cover my basic living expenses and then some, which means...
-- I can ask for one more command afloat tour because I love the people, the challenge, the cohesion and being underway, and not because it's good for continuing my career, and...
-- I can spend my time after active duty doing and exploring things I love or feel like I might love; I can find new adventures, challenges, and (oh my gawd, I'm not sure I can handle this part...) let things be easy for a while (which may be the greatest challenge of all...).
-- Only bounded by my imagination and the limits of my courage.
So, while I'm not RE yet, I'm definitely FI. I can drop a retirement letter any day I choose now, even if I'm still one year out from it taking effect. Which is ok...I still have a few things I want to accomplish to round out my Coast Guard career. I'm thinking of this as my Warning Order. Action Order pends finding out what ship I'm going to next...
Friday, August 31, 2018
Friday, August 10, 2018
Great Leaps
I'm doing my very best hermit impression this weekend. It has been a super busy last two weeks, and I feel the need for some quiet reflection to process the constant movement I've been doing. I wrote a long email to my coach just as the busy-ness was kicking off (when I didn't fully realize the intensity of the busy-ness), because I had what felt like a complete epiphany. Looking back, I haven't been able to spend as much time as I wanted in the mental space I describe below. I guess that's what August's challenge will be for. I'm excited about it.
Here's the email:
"I took a walk to run a quick errand [as we were waiting for more information on the crisis of the day...on Friday, which is not an official workday, but I usually go in for a few hours to catch up and prioritize for the next week. I was at work when the crisis hit...thankfully. Also, crisis is over, just dealing with the fallout from it now].
On that walk, I realized (big epiphany here [I really feel like that is an understatement, and I have a hard time describing how big a shock this realization was to me]) that I have crazy high expectations for myself.
I don't know what finally made that make sense to me. I think it may be this latest challenge. It's the Whole Life Challenge (www.wholelifechallenge.com) this month, where there are seven ways to keep points each day: nutrition, fitness, mobility (stretching), sleep, hydration, a weekly "wellness" challenge (this week's was no electronics during meals to better be in the moment with what you're eating) and a daily reflection. We're about half way through it, and yesterday, in particular, I was feeling very dragged down by it. I lost my wellness points because I ate lunch at my computer because I was trying to get stuff done (at least it was a healthy lunch). I lost all my nutrition and wellness points the day before because I ate an entire bag of caramel popcorn mindlessly as I was working (at my computer). I didn't get a workout in yesterday, and by the time I got home, I didn't want to stretch either.
And the realization of what I was doing to myself came crashing down on me as I walked around base...the standard to which I hold myself is very, very high. I expect myself to do a thousand things, and do them all well. I was thinking about not getting a workout in, and chastising myself for not having the energy to do it once I got home (after an eight-hour day on my sixth day (most of which were 10-hr days) at work in a row). I realized my expectations were very high, and immediately started trying to figure out how to get my workout in before my workday starts so that I have the energy to do it. And it took me a minute to realize that was just rearranging obligations, not actually getting at the root of the expectation.
Which, as the evening wore on, and as I've thought more about it today, is what I feel like I really need to do. I was going to track all my cash spending next month, but instead, I've decided on a "no expectations" challenge for next month. I need a freaking break from them!
Which then led me to consider what do I mean by "no expectations." And what I came up with is, every time I find myself saying, "I should do...," "I need to...," or "I have to...," I will gently ask where that comes from. Is it something I actually *want* to do?...because those don't feel like expectations...they feel like me being authentically me, doing things I value. Or is it something I feel like I should be doing?...because someone else expects it, or I read somewhere I should, or it's something I've picked up along the way and haven't actually thought about why I'm doing it.
And the things I *want* to do...those might be long term wants supported by daily choices. I want to be healthy...which means that I really want to snack on blueberries instead of caramel popcorn [or not eat a box of Girl Scout Samoas for dinner...which I did last night]. I want to set clear expectations for people who work for me to help them succeed...which means I do want to send that last clarifying email before my day ends so it's waiting for them when they get in. So, "wanting" to do something isn't just, I want to sit on my couch and read my book today or I want that piece of pie (but it might be). It's looking at why I'm doing the things I'm doing, and asking myself if that's really how I want to spend my time, energy, whatever.
This idea of no expectations feels like a reprieve. An opportunity to test what I really want. And how that gets put into action every day. I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, workout when I want or not, drink whatever/whenever I want. No stringent personal rules to guide how I chose to get through my day...which is kinda an amazing concept to me. Somehow, I think there may be another aspect to this one too...maybe something about finding my own truths...the things I feel in my bones are true about me that I can stop questioning so doggedly. Which reminds me of what you've been trying to get across to me, that there are certain lines I won't let myself cross."
And the things I *want* to do...those might be long term wants supported by daily choices. I want to be healthy...which means that I really want to snack on blueberries instead of caramel popcorn [or not eat a box of Girl Scout Samoas for dinner...which I did last night]. I want to set clear expectations for people who work for me to help them succeed...which means I do want to send that last clarifying email before my day ends so it's waiting for them when they get in. So, "wanting" to do something isn't just, I want to sit on my couch and read my book today or I want that piece of pie (but it might be). It's looking at why I'm doing the things I'm doing, and asking myself if that's really how I want to spend my time, energy, whatever.
This idea of no expectations feels like a reprieve. An opportunity to test what I really want. And how that gets put into action every day. I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, workout when I want or not, drink whatever/whenever I want. No stringent personal rules to guide how I chose to get through my day...which is kinda an amazing concept to me. Somehow, I think there may be another aspect to this one too...maybe something about finding my own truths...the things I feel in my bones are true about me that I can stop questioning so doggedly. Which reminds me of what you've been trying to get across to me, that there are certain lines I won't let myself cross."
So that was the end of the email to my coach. Interestingly, the message about "my truths" was reinforced from another email this morning from my financial adviser. I sold my house in Hawaii recently and asked her about the possibility of putting some of the money into a separate account that I could designate for travel.
Her response was, "...first, you are clearly a saver and investor (whether real estate or stocks) and I would be very surprised if you were at risk of ‘spending away’ your travel funds..." and "...I truly believe you will weigh how and when you spend your money every time you would need to get out your checkbook, whether for a plane trip, future primary home, investment property or stock purchase. There are people who are either not disciplined enough not to spend away money they intend to use for something specific, or they cannot grasp the concept of ‘fungibility’ and must have it set for a specific purpose. I do not think that applies to you..."
How do other people see my truths while I remain so completely blind to them?
Another related story, which makes me smile every time I think of it. Two days into last week, during which I felt like a circus ring master with the music on 98 rpms, juggling two groups of visitors to PATFOR involving most of the entire crew, including the cutters, I didn't sleep a damn. There I was, staring up into the ceiling at 10 pm, my mind racing a thousand miles an hour about everything that was going on. OPM was one of our visitors, so of course I was thinking about my e-resume, and how the hell I was supposed to rank order the cutters that are open for transfer next summer.
Because I couldn't sleep, I posted the following on Facebook,"If you had to pick one of the following words to best describe me, which would it be? Options in alphabetical order: dauntless, steadfast, venturous, vigilant, vigorous. For those that recognize the words, don't cheat, or spoil the fun."
Of course, all my Coastie friends got it. Despite my admonition, some still cheated and picked the words based on their own preferences for where the so-named cutters are homeported. Others added their own words, mostly forms of "diligence."
If I was hoping for a clear answer to help me craft my e-resume, I certainly didn't get it. Top three candidates were dauntless, steadfast, and venturous..which if I had to pick words that people felt best describe me, I'll happily take any one of those three :)
As for what I'm putting on my e-resume...guh! I wish I knew!
Saturday, July 7, 2018
Random Thoughts
Random Thought #1:
I survived, even thrived, through Change of Command. It was a flurry of events once the incoming Commodore arrived at work on Sunday morning, ramping up to a whole 'nother level of intensity when the Admiral came in three days later. It all went amazingly smoothly. I pretty much just hung on for the ride, enjoying the fruits of the preparation we had done prior to it all kicking off. I credit the event's success to the attention to detail of the three (yes, three: one for the ceremony, one for the relief week schedule, and one for the distinguished visitor visit) Project Officers that worked completely seamlessly together, kept me well informed, and maybe a smidge to my tight grip of worry and constant attention to making sure things stayed on schedule (Control Freak Tendencies were at full throttle for about 48 hours). There were a few hiccups, a handful of last minute changes, and at least one moment of abject fear.
There I was, on stage in front of nearly 200 people. I had just introduced the presiding official, and happened to glance at the next few lines of the script, so I knew when I needed to check back in (not that I wasn't paying attention to the Admiral's remarks...I just needed a moment or two to regroup). And realized the next part that required anything from me was reading the outgoing Commodore's award citation. Oh, holy mother of heavens...the award citation!! Where the blazes was it?!? I had been told it was being hand carried in, but I hadn't actually put eyes on it. I frantically looked around the room, and found someone whose phone number I had in my phone (which I am still amazed I actually had on me; working in a secure space means I don't always take it with me these days when I leave my office) standing next to the Change of Command Project Officer. I texted him frantically. Then texted him again. And again. I'm pretty sure one of the texts was simply, "Help!" The multiple texts got his attention, and he checked his phone. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him showing the screen to the Project Officer, who then calmly walked around the back of the room over to the Admiral's Aide (who was standing off-stage, out of my sight, so I had no idea he was there) to verify he had the award. He did, thank my lucky stars! And when the time came, he calmly carried the citation and medal box up to the stage and handed it to the Admiral for presentation. Thankfully I already had a copy of the citation in my script, so it looked as if we had planned it that way.
When I chatted briefly with the Aide after the ceremony, he assured me he had it under control the whole time, and told me to trust him. I shot back, "Trust, yes, absolutely, but verify. Trust, but verify." We both laughed.
And the cakes were delicious. I liked the chocolate one a tad bit better.
Random Thought #2:
I have eight days left in my second month-long challenge. At last count, I have said 28 cusswords in the last 22 days, and have had seven days where I said no cusswords at all.
Uh, I just looked up what the 28th number in the sequence is, and almost choked. I am going to have to change my rules somehow. The 28th number in the Fibonacci sequence is 371,811. I really want to say a cussword right now. But that definitely defeats the purpose. Because the 29th number is 514,229. I'm laughing now, which is good. Ok, new rule: for every cuss-free day, I can take one number off my tally. So for now, with seven cuss-free days, I can reduce 28 to 21, which is still $10,946...but with some self control and awareness, I can work down to 14, which is only $377. Talk about effective motivation...
So that was really just part A of RT#2.
B. I'm getting things I didn't expect to get out of these two challenges I've done so far. With the letter writing, it was how easy it was to fill barely three sides of a note card to people I care about. And how, just when my enthusiasm for it was flagging, I started receiving word back that people were getting my letters and enjoying them, which reinvigorated the fun in it.
This time, instead of feeling constrained by the limitations like I thought I would, I'm learning to slow down and pay attention to what I say before it comes out of my mouth. Which is a lesson I desperately have needed to learn for a very long time. I get a sense just before I say something, based on the thought I'm trying to communicate, that my default expression would be a cuss word. I've learned to pay attention to that sense so I can modify the words before I say them. It's much more profound than this description here is making it out to be. Maybe it's the **Intention of Observation** that I'm actually cultivating. Because that's something I can apply throughout my life, personally and professionally, and not just to not cussing for a month.
Funny story about not cussing. At the Eagles and Anchors (Officers and Chiefs) event the evening after the Change of Command, I was standing around chatting with a couple of the Chiefs. I have no idea of what we were talking about, and I was about half-way through my cup of white wine, so I was starting to get a little um...expansive in my communication style (more arm waving and emphasis on Very Important Points). Whatever I was saying required an f-bomb. I got the F and U out, before I realized what I was doing, and was able to stop myself before the C and K were uttered. It came out a little choked, and I apologized for garbling things. The Chiefs thought I was apologizing for almost saying the f-word (as if!), so I explained to them what had actually happened. They asked a few polite questions about my year of challenges, including what I expected my hardest challenge to be. And laughed understandingly when I said it was February's...where I am challenging myself to use the stairs to or from my flat at least once a day...no easy feat when I live on the 19th floor...
But back to the intention of observation. Because that really has been a fundamental shift for me. If I can observe what I'm feeling, and explore that, instead of simply reacting to it, I keep myself much more grounded in a sense of personal/emotional space that I want to be in. I can notice myself being upset, recognize I'm upset, and adjust my external reaction based on knowing I'm upset. It doesn't work perfectly every time, of course. I still say stupid things, and react poorly in some situations. But that's happening slightly less frequently...which is absolutely better than every single time.
Random Thought #3:
I passed my two-month mark in country. I was wondering why I was feeling a little antsy, and realized I haven't been in one probably eight-mile radius for this long in...jeesh, I'm not sure I can remember. Back stateside, I was always taking off on the weekends, or traveling for work, or using every excuse I could find to get out of the city, or before DC, getting underway and sailing off to new places. For the last two months and one week, my radius of existence has shrunk. Furthest afield I have been is probably the one trip to Bahrain Defense Force Hospital, which is 8.1 miles away from where I'm sitting in my flat right now. And one trip to the Harley Davidson dealership (ooh, good story there!! maybe relevant to the next Random Thought...). And one trip yesterday out to the not-quite-open-yet Ikea store. It's not bad, one way or the other. Just different. Not what I'm used to.
In some ways, I really like that probably more than 95% of my time is spent in a less than two mile radius, that I either walk or bike around. It feels much more personal. I'm starting to recognize the potholes in the roads I bike; the car washers who are working so hard when I pass them on my way in to work in the morning; the gate guards at the Indonesian Embassy; the neighbors tending their sun-beaten landscaping. I'm watching a house be built, seeing progress every day, from digging the holes for the footers, to filling in the trenches, to the walls going up...and that's as far as they've gotten. But before long, I'm sure I'll see furniture moving in, and maybe people living there. There is an intimacy with details that comes with living in a close space.
And an expanded excitement that comes with moving out of that space on the few occasions I do. Everything is new to look at, and slightly different from the things I've been seeing constantly. That may be why I was so tickled by the donkey I saw in the back of a truck yesterday. Just riding along, ears twitching and muscles shifting as they turned corners, didn't seem perturbed by much of anything that was going on around him...made me laugh at the absurdity of things.
Random Thought #4:
I've added a goal to my list for this year. I want to enter a Story Slam. Maybe The Moth, but maybe another after I do some more research. It's another venue for telling my stories. I'm fairly comfortable talking in front of crowds...I've been doing it a lot lately. I have good stories to tell, sometimes even complete with profound lessons...or at least profound to me.
Two first steps I can see I need to start with: pick a story and pick a slam.
Picking a story is harder than it seems at first blush. Many of my stories are sea stories, which require some fundamental understanding of life on a Coast Guard cutter...or lots of time to explain how things are and why they are that way...and story slams have a time limit. So maybe the cross-country motorcycle trip? But what part of that? I started telling the cadets some of that story, and realized there are lots and lots of tendrils to it, lots of side roads to travel down, if you will. Or the story about the deformed o-ring I wear as a necklace?...which is a sea story and requires a visual of the o-ring, which might not work from a slam stage. Or the trip to the Harley shop here in Bahrain which started out very frustratingly, but ended up with camel's milk and plants in my house and office? Not sure that one is actually long enough.
Picking a slam requires some research. And some knowledge of my future schedule. I get overwhelmed with too many options, so I'm not sure which is really the harder part of this piece.
But there it is. On public record with a new goal. More to follow.
I survived, even thrived, through Change of Command. It was a flurry of events once the incoming Commodore arrived at work on Sunday morning, ramping up to a whole 'nother level of intensity when the Admiral came in three days later. It all went amazingly smoothly. I pretty much just hung on for the ride, enjoying the fruits of the preparation we had done prior to it all kicking off. I credit the event's success to the attention to detail of the three (yes, three: one for the ceremony, one for the relief week schedule, and one for the distinguished visitor visit) Project Officers that worked completely seamlessly together, kept me well informed, and maybe a smidge to my tight grip of worry and constant attention to making sure things stayed on schedule (Control Freak Tendencies were at full throttle for about 48 hours). There were a few hiccups, a handful of last minute changes, and at least one moment of abject fear.
There I was, on stage in front of nearly 200 people. I had just introduced the presiding official, and happened to glance at the next few lines of the script, so I knew when I needed to check back in (not that I wasn't paying attention to the Admiral's remarks...I just needed a moment or two to regroup). And realized the next part that required anything from me was reading the outgoing Commodore's award citation. Oh, holy mother of heavens...the award citation!! Where the blazes was it?!? I had been told it was being hand carried in, but I hadn't actually put eyes on it. I frantically looked around the room, and found someone whose phone number I had in my phone (which I am still amazed I actually had on me; working in a secure space means I don't always take it with me these days when I leave my office) standing next to the Change of Command Project Officer. I texted him frantically. Then texted him again. And again. I'm pretty sure one of the texts was simply, "Help!" The multiple texts got his attention, and he checked his phone. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him showing the screen to the Project Officer, who then calmly walked around the back of the room over to the Admiral's Aide (who was standing off-stage, out of my sight, so I had no idea he was there) to verify he had the award. He did, thank my lucky stars! And when the time came, he calmly carried the citation and medal box up to the stage and handed it to the Admiral for presentation. Thankfully I already had a copy of the citation in my script, so it looked as if we had planned it that way.
When I chatted briefly with the Aide after the ceremony, he assured me he had it under control the whole time, and told me to trust him. I shot back, "Trust, yes, absolutely, but verify. Trust, but verify." We both laughed.
And the cakes were delicious. I liked the chocolate one a tad bit better.
Random Thought #2:
I have eight days left in my second month-long challenge. At last count, I have said 28 cusswords in the last 22 days, and have had seven days where I said no cusswords at all.
Uh, I just looked up what the 28th number in the sequence is, and almost choked. I am going to have to change my rules somehow. The 28th number in the Fibonacci sequence is 371,811. I really want to say a cussword right now. But that definitely defeats the purpose. Because the 29th number is 514,229. I'm laughing now, which is good. Ok, new rule: for every cuss-free day, I can take one number off my tally. So for now, with seven cuss-free days, I can reduce 28 to 21, which is still $10,946...but with some self control and awareness, I can work down to 14, which is only $377. Talk about effective motivation...
So that was really just part A of RT#2.
B. I'm getting things I didn't expect to get out of these two challenges I've done so far. With the letter writing, it was how easy it was to fill barely three sides of a note card to people I care about. And how, just when my enthusiasm for it was flagging, I started receiving word back that people were getting my letters and enjoying them, which reinvigorated the fun in it.
This time, instead of feeling constrained by the limitations like I thought I would, I'm learning to slow down and pay attention to what I say before it comes out of my mouth. Which is a lesson I desperately have needed to learn for a very long time. I get a sense just before I say something, based on the thought I'm trying to communicate, that my default expression would be a cuss word. I've learned to pay attention to that sense so I can modify the words before I say them. It's much more profound than this description here is making it out to be. Maybe it's the **Intention of Observation** that I'm actually cultivating. Because that's something I can apply throughout my life, personally and professionally, and not just to not cussing for a month.
Funny story about not cussing. At the Eagles and Anchors (Officers and Chiefs) event the evening after the Change of Command, I was standing around chatting with a couple of the Chiefs. I have no idea of what we were talking about, and I was about half-way through my cup of white wine, so I was starting to get a little um...expansive in my communication style (more arm waving and emphasis on Very Important Points). Whatever I was saying required an f-bomb. I got the F and U out, before I realized what I was doing, and was able to stop myself before the C and K were uttered. It came out a little choked, and I apologized for garbling things. The Chiefs thought I was apologizing for almost saying the f-word (as if!), so I explained to them what had actually happened. They asked a few polite questions about my year of challenges, including what I expected my hardest challenge to be. And laughed understandingly when I said it was February's...where I am challenging myself to use the stairs to or from my flat at least once a day...no easy feat when I live on the 19th floor...
But back to the intention of observation. Because that really has been a fundamental shift for me. If I can observe what I'm feeling, and explore that, instead of simply reacting to it, I keep myself much more grounded in a sense of personal/emotional space that I want to be in. I can notice myself being upset, recognize I'm upset, and adjust my external reaction based on knowing I'm upset. It doesn't work perfectly every time, of course. I still say stupid things, and react poorly in some situations. But that's happening slightly less frequently...which is absolutely better than every single time.
Random Thought #3:
I passed my two-month mark in country. I was wondering why I was feeling a little antsy, and realized I haven't been in one probably eight-mile radius for this long in...jeesh, I'm not sure I can remember. Back stateside, I was always taking off on the weekends, or traveling for work, or using every excuse I could find to get out of the city, or before DC, getting underway and sailing off to new places. For the last two months and one week, my radius of existence has shrunk. Furthest afield I have been is probably the one trip to Bahrain Defense Force Hospital, which is 8.1 miles away from where I'm sitting in my flat right now. And one trip to the Harley Davidson dealership (ooh, good story there!! maybe relevant to the next Random Thought...). And one trip yesterday out to the not-quite-open-yet Ikea store. It's not bad, one way or the other. Just different. Not what I'm used to.
In some ways, I really like that probably more than 95% of my time is spent in a less than two mile radius, that I either walk or bike around. It feels much more personal. I'm starting to recognize the potholes in the roads I bike; the car washers who are working so hard when I pass them on my way in to work in the morning; the gate guards at the Indonesian Embassy; the neighbors tending their sun-beaten landscaping. I'm watching a house be built, seeing progress every day, from digging the holes for the footers, to filling in the trenches, to the walls going up...and that's as far as they've gotten. But before long, I'm sure I'll see furniture moving in, and maybe people living there. There is an intimacy with details that comes with living in a close space.And an expanded excitement that comes with moving out of that space on the few occasions I do. Everything is new to look at, and slightly different from the things I've been seeing constantly. That may be why I was so tickled by the donkey I saw in the back of a truck yesterday. Just riding along, ears twitching and muscles shifting as they turned corners, didn't seem perturbed by much of anything that was going on around him...made me laugh at the absurdity of things.
I've added a goal to my list for this year. I want to enter a Story Slam. Maybe The Moth, but maybe another after I do some more research. It's another venue for telling my stories. I'm fairly comfortable talking in front of crowds...I've been doing it a lot lately. I have good stories to tell, sometimes even complete with profound lessons...or at least profound to me.
Two first steps I can see I need to start with: pick a story and pick a slam.
Picking a story is harder than it seems at first blush. Many of my stories are sea stories, which require some fundamental understanding of life on a Coast Guard cutter...or lots of time to explain how things are and why they are that way...and story slams have a time limit. So maybe the cross-country motorcycle trip? But what part of that? I started telling the cadets some of that story, and realized there are lots and lots of tendrils to it, lots of side roads to travel down, if you will. Or the story about the deformed o-ring I wear as a necklace?...which is a sea story and requires a visual of the o-ring, which might not work from a slam stage. Or the trip to the Harley shop here in Bahrain which started out very frustratingly, but ended up with camel's milk and plants in my house and office? Not sure that one is actually long enough.
Picking a slam requires some research. And some knowledge of my future schedule. I get overwhelmed with too many options, so I'm not sure which is really the harder part of this piece.
But there it is. On public record with a new goal. More to follow.
Saturday, June 23, 2018
Uh...Not Already?!?
Pre-script note: it's worthwhile reading, or skipping, to the end. It's not all CG-speak.
I've only been here nearly two months. It'll be two months in about four days. And I've already had to submit stuff for transfer season. I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around that. Senior Command Screening Panel (SCSP) and Senior Education and Fellowship Panel (SEFP) submissions were due in Direct Access Friday before last and last Friday, respectively. So as much as I just want to focus on learning and doing my job here, I've been distracted a few times thinking about what's next, and what that means in the grander scheme of things.
I knew I was going to put in for SCSP. That was pretty much a given, and one of the primary reasons I wanted to come out here...to be tour complete in AY19, when there are lots of amazing command afloat opportunities open. An abundance of WMEC 210s and 270s in great locations, and me tour complete so OPM *has* to cut me orders to somewhere, instead of three years into a four-year tour at HQ, trying to convince the detailer that short-touring me was a necessary option. Coming out here seemed kinda crazy back last August when I asked for it, but is making more and more sense every day.
Which then brings me to the question of what and where. I'm really, really, really trying hard to just let it be for a while longer. And maybe those questions should actually be a post for another day. E-resumes aren't due until 1 September, so instead of fretting over which boat where for the next two months, I would much prefer putting off the question, at least for another six weeks or so.
The larger question of what this decision means in the grander scheme of things is what I want to get out of my head in this post.
It took me a while to realize I was a cutterman. Especially looking through the lens of today's officer career management practices, where so many of the specialties require people to sign up early (like by their second tour) in order to get all the qualifications they need to compete strongly for good jobs and promotion to O4 and above. I was four tours in, as OPS on (the old) HAMILTON (aka, HAM-Bone) before it really sunk in to me that my primary specialty was Operations Afloat. (Ha...and I'm still not sure what my secondary specialty is...maybe Jack of All Trades, aka Management, MGT10. Not as specific as say, Financial Management (FIN10), but it's seemed to work for me so far...)
And once I realized I was a cutterman, I started thinking about what cuttermen did as they continued advancing in their career. So I did that, and went back to sea as a LT CO, then a LCDR XO, and next, hopefully CDR CO. And then...???????????????
Yep, I kinda always thought I'd retire off the flight deck of my cutter as an O5, right after eating shrimp at my outgoing Change of Command. In my mind, cuttermen, at least the type of cutterman I want to be, retire from their ship with a sense of knowing they're walking away from the greatest job on earth. And I thought there weren't any jobs past that O5 CO pinnacle that could entice me to stick around. O6 command seemed...idk, out of reach maybe? Or not that, exactly, but to go from 15 or so chances to be an O5 CO every year, to at most four O6 CO opportunities as we move from 12 WHECs to (at the time) eight WMSLs...it just seemed like a competition that would get political, and I don't know, don't want to know, and am unwilling to learn how to play the political game.
Then one day, I had a conversation with one of my dearest mentors, and I started seeing a path past an O5 CO ride that I might be able to stomach (oh dear, bad pun. I ate a bad blueberry about an hour ago, and just hurled a coupla times to get rid of it. Does not bode well for the fresh, raw camel's milk tasting I have scheduled for this evening....which is another story for another day.). There are a couple of post-command staff tours (literally, two) that I think would be interesting. And I did put in for a handful of Senior Service Schools this year, just in case I wasn't already in the throes of wondering what I want to be when I grow up. And now that there are at least 11 WMSLs...well, the O6 command opportunities aren't as bleak as they once were.
Part of me wonders if this newfound interest in continuing past an O5 command is just my brain freaking out that it really, really likes something that it knows, and it's just me being scared of retiring from active duty and finding something else to do. Actually, make that "terrified," not "scared." As in, being terrified to leave the Service and having to entertain myself 24x7.
There are plenty of other things I want to do with my life that don't include moving around every two years, and spending half the year away from home on an old-arse steel bucket bouncing around the ocean, and the other half of the year, working my own arse off to keep said old-arse steel bucket running. Yep, plenty of things...I got lots of ideas...a whole notebook of ideas. Pages and pages turned into a good idea fairy nest, full to the brim of ways to keep myself busy and feel like I'm contributing something positive to the world. Like build on my fascination with real estate and be a property manager, or buy an old building downtown and convert it into a kitchen incubator where we host "Meet Your Maker" events showcasing the folks who use the incubator to cook up goodies, or teach leadership and management classes at the local community college while I run an Air BnB out of my upstairs studio apartment and generally just enjoy life in one spot. Or maybe all that at once because I don't know how to slow down very well after a 20+ year Coast Guard career.
As I start to freak out over what ship to ask for (because the differences between a 210 and 270 seem so monumental if I'm interested in an O6 command tour, maybe even as a PCO of an OPC????), I have to actively remind myself that I am in a totally enviable position of having nothing but amazing, abundant, awesomely good options. So I decide to get out after my O5 CO ride? I am financially secure enough to only work if I want to, doing what I chose to do. So I decide to stay in past an O5 CO ride? Good jobs in which I'm interested, and the chance to do it all over again as an O6.
Truly fantastic options, all around. No need to fret or stress or spend energy in angst over it right now. Just don't shut any doors before I'm ready for them to be shut, and spend my time and energy doing what I'm supposed to doing right now...like my current job. Easier said than done, on a quiet Saturday afternoon. But still good advice.
BT
It wasn't until I was talking to my sister this evening, and she mentioned she just couldn't power through all the CG jargon in this post that I remembered I had another point to make.
I feel like leaving the Service is a taboo topic. We're not allowed to talk about it, like it's disloyal somehow to consider that there's something outside of being on active duty that might be worthwhile doing.
Especially if you're a good performer. Especially, especially if you're a good performing under-represented minority.
I understand that I have plenty to offer to my country by serving in this way. I also understand that I have plenty to offer my country to serve in another way of my choice. And guess what...once the terms of my contract have been served, it is my choice to enter into another term of service. Or not.
In many ways, it's like a relationship. I'd rather be with my partner and have my partner be with me because we both chose it, because we both *want* it. Not because we feel like we *have* to be together for some reason or we wouldn't survive. *Having* to be with someone means there's no choice, just need. *Wanting* to be with someone means you both have choices, and are making the conscious decision to continue being with each other. "Having to" comes from a place of desperation and fear. "Wanting to" comes from a place of desire and confidence.
For now, I want to be in the Coast Guard, doing what I'm doing. That may not always be the case. And when it's no longer the case, we're both better off if I leave, regardless of whether or not I still have something to contribute. I want to go out on the highest note possible. I want to go out with passion still in my soul. I want to go out happy with the choices I've made. There may be some sadness because good possibilities still exist. What won't be there is bitterness because I've stayed too long.
People stay in for different reasons. People get out for different reasons. We need to be comfortable talking about all of the possibilities, not just the ones that fit comfortably in our own world view.
I've only been here nearly two months. It'll be two months in about four days. And I've already had to submit stuff for transfer season. I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around that. Senior Command Screening Panel (SCSP) and Senior Education and Fellowship Panel (SEFP) submissions were due in Direct Access Friday before last and last Friday, respectively. So as much as I just want to focus on learning and doing my job here, I've been distracted a few times thinking about what's next, and what that means in the grander scheme of things.
I knew I was going to put in for SCSP. That was pretty much a given, and one of the primary reasons I wanted to come out here...to be tour complete in AY19, when there are lots of amazing command afloat opportunities open. An abundance of WMEC 210s and 270s in great locations, and me tour complete so OPM *has* to cut me orders to somewhere, instead of three years into a four-year tour at HQ, trying to convince the detailer that short-touring me was a necessary option. Coming out here seemed kinda crazy back last August when I asked for it, but is making more and more sense every day.
Which then brings me to the question of what and where. I'm really, really, really trying hard to just let it be for a while longer. And maybe those questions should actually be a post for another day. E-resumes aren't due until 1 September, so instead of fretting over which boat where for the next two months, I would much prefer putting off the question, at least for another six weeks or so.
The larger question of what this decision means in the grander scheme of things is what I want to get out of my head in this post.
It took me a while to realize I was a cutterman. Especially looking through the lens of today's officer career management practices, where so many of the specialties require people to sign up early (like by their second tour) in order to get all the qualifications they need to compete strongly for good jobs and promotion to O4 and above. I was four tours in, as OPS on (the old) HAMILTON (aka, HAM-Bone) before it really sunk in to me that my primary specialty was Operations Afloat. (Ha...and I'm still not sure what my secondary specialty is...maybe Jack of All Trades, aka Management, MGT10. Not as specific as say, Financial Management (FIN10), but it's seemed to work for me so far...)
And once I realized I was a cutterman, I started thinking about what cuttermen did as they continued advancing in their career. So I did that, and went back to sea as a LT CO, then a LCDR XO, and next, hopefully CDR CO. And then...???????????????
Yep, I kinda always thought I'd retire off the flight deck of my cutter as an O5, right after eating shrimp at my outgoing Change of Command. In my mind, cuttermen, at least the type of cutterman I want to be, retire from their ship with a sense of knowing they're walking away from the greatest job on earth. And I thought there weren't any jobs past that O5 CO pinnacle that could entice me to stick around. O6 command seemed...idk, out of reach maybe? Or not that, exactly, but to go from 15 or so chances to be an O5 CO every year, to at most four O6 CO opportunities as we move from 12 WHECs to (at the time) eight WMSLs...it just seemed like a competition that would get political, and I don't know, don't want to know, and am unwilling to learn how to play the political game.
Then one day, I had a conversation with one of my dearest mentors, and I started seeing a path past an O5 CO ride that I might be able to stomach (oh dear, bad pun. I ate a bad blueberry about an hour ago, and just hurled a coupla times to get rid of it. Does not bode well for the fresh, raw camel's milk tasting I have scheduled for this evening....which is another story for another day.). There are a couple of post-command staff tours (literally, two) that I think would be interesting. And I did put in for a handful of Senior Service Schools this year, just in case I wasn't already in the throes of wondering what I want to be when I grow up. And now that there are at least 11 WMSLs...well, the O6 command opportunities aren't as bleak as they once were.
Part of me wonders if this newfound interest in continuing past an O5 command is just my brain freaking out that it really, really likes something that it knows, and it's just me being scared of retiring from active duty and finding something else to do. Actually, make that "terrified," not "scared." As in, being terrified to leave the Service and having to entertain myself 24x7.
There are plenty of other things I want to do with my life that don't include moving around every two years, and spending half the year away from home on an old-arse steel bucket bouncing around the ocean, and the other half of the year, working my own arse off to keep said old-arse steel bucket running. Yep, plenty of things...I got lots of ideas...a whole notebook of ideas. Pages and pages turned into a good idea fairy nest, full to the brim of ways to keep myself busy and feel like I'm contributing something positive to the world. Like build on my fascination with real estate and be a property manager, or buy an old building downtown and convert it into a kitchen incubator where we host "Meet Your Maker" events showcasing the folks who use the incubator to cook up goodies, or teach leadership and management classes at the local community college while I run an Air BnB out of my upstairs studio apartment and generally just enjoy life in one spot. Or maybe all that at once because I don't know how to slow down very well after a 20+ year Coast Guard career.
As I start to freak out over what ship to ask for (because the differences between a 210 and 270 seem so monumental if I'm interested in an O6 command tour, maybe even as a PCO of an OPC????), I have to actively remind myself that I am in a totally enviable position of having nothing but amazing, abundant, awesomely good options. So I decide to get out after my O5 CO ride? I am financially secure enough to only work if I want to, doing what I chose to do. So I decide to stay in past an O5 CO ride? Good jobs in which I'm interested, and the chance to do it all over again as an O6.
Truly fantastic options, all around. No need to fret or stress or spend energy in angst over it right now. Just don't shut any doors before I'm ready for them to be shut, and spend my time and energy doing what I'm supposed to doing right now...like my current job. Easier said than done, on a quiet Saturday afternoon. But still good advice.
BT
It wasn't until I was talking to my sister this evening, and she mentioned she just couldn't power through all the CG jargon in this post that I remembered I had another point to make.
I feel like leaving the Service is a taboo topic. We're not allowed to talk about it, like it's disloyal somehow to consider that there's something outside of being on active duty that might be worthwhile doing.
Especially if you're a good performer. Especially, especially if you're a good performing under-represented minority.
I understand that I have plenty to offer to my country by serving in this way. I also understand that I have plenty to offer my country to serve in another way of my choice. And guess what...once the terms of my contract have been served, it is my choice to enter into another term of service. Or not.
In many ways, it's like a relationship. I'd rather be with my partner and have my partner be with me because we both chose it, because we both *want* it. Not because we feel like we *have* to be together for some reason or we wouldn't survive. *Having* to be with someone means there's no choice, just need. *Wanting* to be with someone means you both have choices, and are making the conscious decision to continue being with each other. "Having to" comes from a place of desperation and fear. "Wanting to" comes from a place of desire and confidence.
For now, I want to be in the Coast Guard, doing what I'm doing. That may not always be the case. And when it's no longer the case, we're both better off if I leave, regardless of whether or not I still have something to contribute. I want to go out on the highest note possible. I want to go out with passion still in my soul. I want to go out happy with the choices I've made. There may be some sadness because good possibilities still exist. What won't be there is bitterness because I've stayed too long.
People stay in for different reasons. People get out for different reasons. We need to be comfortable talking about all of the possibilities, not just the ones that fit comfortably in our own world view.
Friday, June 15, 2018
One Month In
The first month was really fun. I wrote a letter home to family and friends every day for 31 days, from 15 May to 14 June. Thanks to everyone who was generous enough to share their address with me...made it much easier to complete the challenge. If you want in on the fun, send me your address, and I'll keep it going :)
There were a few times when it was kinda like cooking dinner: I don't mind cooking as long as I don't have to figure out *what* to cook. I didn't mind writing the letters; that part was super easy. The very hard part was coming up with someone to write to. I went through most of my family, which is not very large. I asked my peer group if anyone wanted to exchange letters, and had a couple of wonderful women to write to. I even trolled Facebook to remind myself of good friends that, honestly, I couldn't believe I didn't think of on my own.
And the other hard part was my handwriting. I sorta felt like I was back in 3rd grade, when my very worst grade ever was a C in handwriting. Let's just say it hasn't gotten any better in the intervening 36 years. I really did try to be neat too. My hand just can't keep up with my brain, no matter how hard it tries. So, thanks also to everyone for bearing with and through my chicken scratch.
Just when I was starting to lose a little bit of enthusiasm for the challenge, I started getting return letters in the mail, or FB messages that people had gotten their notes, and enjoyed them. Never mind that I had talked or corresponded with them in the interim...somehow I didn't run out of things to write in the letters. Little details about living in Bahrain, my flat, my job. Plenty of stuff to natter on about.
So, one challenge done. Time for the next one. Warning: foul language alert...
Oof. No cussing for 30 days, from 15 June to 14 July. Good thing this one isn't in a 31-day month. And I need rules this time. Real rules. Written rules. Rules I can't sea-lawyer my way out of.
Here goes:
-- Using cuss words while I'm writing the rules doesn't count against me, so that I can have a very clearly defined list of what is unacceptable.
-- Unacceptable words are: f*ck (which will be the hardest one ever for me to not use, so it comes first), sh*t, damn, piss, bitch (eek, another tough one), ass, the c-word, christ, d*ck, c*ck.
-- I may add to this list, but not take any off of it during the course of the month.
-- Derivatives of the above words are also unacceptable: pisser, mutherf*cker, sunovabitch, asshat, asshole, jackass, asswipe (what is it about ass that it lends itself to so many combinations?), g*ddamn, d*ckwad, c*cksucker, and so on. (Yes, I have used each of these in the past, so this is a fairly onerous requirement)
-- Other, less offensive or like-sounding combinations that don't actually use the unacceptable words are allowed: sunovabiscuit, jackhole, patootie, mutherclucker, sugar, shinola...feel free to add more suggestions to build my repertoire in the comments.
-- I must keep a running total of how many times I slip and do use the unacceptable words over the course of the next 30 days, starting once this post is finished until 2359 on Friday, 14 July (I will probably go to bed early that night...either that, or I'll stay up and let loose a five minute string of foul-mouthed expletives that have built up over the previous 30 days...hahahaha).
-- Each time I use an unacceptable word, I will accrue charges on a Fibonacci scale, starting at $1 in full dollar-increments. At the end of the month, I will donate these accrued charges to a worthwhile, but frivolous-to-me charity. Any suggestions?
And away we go...Challenge starts...NOW, 0928, 15 June 2018.
There were a few times when it was kinda like cooking dinner: I don't mind cooking as long as I don't have to figure out *what* to cook. I didn't mind writing the letters; that part was super easy. The very hard part was coming up with someone to write to. I went through most of my family, which is not very large. I asked my peer group if anyone wanted to exchange letters, and had a couple of wonderful women to write to. I even trolled Facebook to remind myself of good friends that, honestly, I couldn't believe I didn't think of on my own.
And the other hard part was my handwriting. I sorta felt like I was back in 3rd grade, when my very worst grade ever was a C in handwriting. Let's just say it hasn't gotten any better in the intervening 36 years. I really did try to be neat too. My hand just can't keep up with my brain, no matter how hard it tries. So, thanks also to everyone for bearing with and through my chicken scratch.
Just when I was starting to lose a little bit of enthusiasm for the challenge, I started getting return letters in the mail, or FB messages that people had gotten their notes, and enjoyed them. Never mind that I had talked or corresponded with them in the interim...somehow I didn't run out of things to write in the letters. Little details about living in Bahrain, my flat, my job. Plenty of stuff to natter on about.
So, one challenge done. Time for the next one. Warning: foul language alert...
Oof. No cussing for 30 days, from 15 June to 14 July. Good thing this one isn't in a 31-day month. And I need rules this time. Real rules. Written rules. Rules I can't sea-lawyer my way out of.
Here goes:
-- Using cuss words while I'm writing the rules doesn't count against me, so that I can have a very clearly defined list of what is unacceptable.
-- Unacceptable words are: f*ck (which will be the hardest one ever for me to not use, so it comes first), sh*t, damn, piss, bitch (eek, another tough one), ass, the c-word, christ, d*ck, c*ck.
-- I may add to this list, but not take any off of it during the course of the month.
-- Derivatives of the above words are also unacceptable: pisser, mutherf*cker, sunovabitch, asshat, asshole, jackass, asswipe (what is it about ass that it lends itself to so many combinations?), g*ddamn, d*ckwad, c*cksucker, and so on. (Yes, I have used each of these in the past, so this is a fairly onerous requirement)
-- Other, less offensive or like-sounding combinations that don't actually use the unacceptable words are allowed: sunovabiscuit, jackhole, patootie, mutherclucker, sugar, shinola...feel free to add more suggestions to build my repertoire in the comments.
-- I must keep a running total of how many times I slip and do use the unacceptable words over the course of the next 30 days, starting once this post is finished until 2359 on Friday, 14 July (I will probably go to bed early that night...either that, or I'll stay up and let loose a five minute string of foul-mouthed expletives that have built up over the previous 30 days...hahahaha).
-- Each time I use an unacceptable word, I will accrue charges on a Fibonacci scale, starting at $1 in full dollar-increments. At the end of the month, I will donate these accrued charges to a worthwhile, but frivolous-to-me charity. Any suggestions?
And away we go...Challenge starts...NOW, 0928, 15 June 2018.
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
A Year of Challenges
No, really, a year of challenges. I'm not talking the, "oh this job is going to be full of challenges" kind of challenges. I mean 12 30-day challenges...one for each month that I'm here.
I'll probably start on 15 May, and run each one until the 15th of the next month. I still need a little time to settle in, get over the jet lag, and, oh yeah, learn my job...
I have 10 of them already identified, and need help with figuring out what the last two should be. Of course, a few of them are food related:
-- Whole 30...google it...way easier than me trying to explain it.
-- No sugar...like, really, no sugar. Not even my weaselly little attempts to satisfy my sweet tooth with dextrose-made treats. I'll allow dates...but only to give myself time to try more food from this region.
-- Cooking from scratch, or whatever is in the cabinets. I really enjoyed this one from a year or so ago...time to try it again. I'll save this one for towards the end of my year here, so I can use up all the random bits of stuff before I have to leave.
-- "Local eating." In the local groceries, most everything is labeled with its country of origin. I don't think I'd be able to eat just from Bahrain, but maybe from the Combatant Commander's AOR? I'll have to do some research for this one to figure out what is reasonable.
Other challenges:
-- 30-day writing challenge. Yup, another oldie but goodie. Won't be fun sea stories, but I'm sure I can come up with good tidbits on a daily basis.
-- No cussing...yeek! I definitely need to do this one. And because I'm me, there's a consequence attached for when I inevitably don't meet my own standard. I'll use a Fibonacci sequence to accrue charges. My first offense (and by offense I mean, each individual cuss word I say in earshot of another person) will be $1, 2nd will be $1, 3rd will be $2, 4th will be $3, 5th will be $5...you get the idea. And I will donate the money I've charged myself to a charity I would normally never support. I can't quite bring myself to donate it to a charity whose work I actively oppose, but something I think is...frivolous, maybe. I promise details on my running tab. Any suggestions for charities?
-- One mindfulness exercise a day from a lovely little book I picked up on my travels somewhere, called "I Am Here Now" by The Mindfulness Project. I should probably start with this one. Get me in the right mindset, and all.
-- Take the stairs to my flat once a day. Note: this is not an idle challenge. I live on the 19th floor. Oof.
-- Write and send one letter or card through the mail each day. One of the little perks of my current assignment is free postage. I should definitely take advantage of that!
-- Take a picture a day. Of some thing interesting. And post it with a caption.
So two questions for you, my delightful readers:
-- What should my remaining 2 challenges be?
-- To what frivolous charity should I donate my inevitable "no cussing" charges?
I very much appreciate any suggestions!!
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Onward
I left DC for the foreseeable future yesterday. I didn’t even notice.
My last post was a few months ago, and I feel like a lifetime has happened since then. I started working with a coach, ostensibly in preparation for managing 225 people, but really that was just the excuse I used to give myself permission to do it. It has a lot more with wanting to reach my full potential, and feeling stuck professionally. I know I can do more, be better, live more fully, and since I identify a lot with work, that felt like a safe place for progress.
During our most recent session, my Coach asked what I wanted to discuss. I had three things I wanted to get through: my reaction to her previous assignment which was to pay attention to why people tell me they want to work for me again, some closure for the job I just finished at CG-751, and plans for the upcoming two weeks before our next session. Honestly, I didn’t know that’s what I wanted to talk about with her before the session, but it sounded like a good framework, nice and manageable, so that’s what I went with.
We started with my observations about why people want to work with or for me again. I said that I’m authentic; people know what they’re getting with me, I don’t pull punches or try to sugar coat things, and I think that encourages them to trust me. And I value input. Lawd knows, I don’t have all the answers, and have learned that the best way to get them is to ask questions, and then listen to the answers. It makes people feel valued to have their opinions and expertise asked for and taken into account. That doesn’t mean that I take what people say as completely actionable gospel truth all the time; I do, however, somehow manage to convey that I appreciate their input.
And then we talked about finishing up at CG-751. I told her I had officially left the office, but still had one briefing left to do because I was a control freak and couldn’t let this one project go before doing the initial brief for CG-821 and CG-0921. She wouldn’t let me get away with the “control freak” comment, saying I said it like it was a bad thing. And I guess I’ve always interpreted it that way, or let other people interpret it that way for me. What I ended up realizing I actually meant was that I was the best person to give the brief because I spent innumerable hours studying the subject, asking for stakeholder input, identifying and clarifying the nuances, and distilling what I knew into a revised instruction. That’s what made me the right person for the brief, not that I’m a control freak.
Somehow through that discussion we got into my service reputation, and how I didn’t want to screw up briefing -821/-0921. I told her the story of the initial round of input I got from those two offices: a colleague consolidated comments from the offices and forwarded it back to me in an email that said (paraphrasing), there are some concerns with this. I saw the initial email on my cell phone, which meant that I couldn’t open the document to immediately read the comments and then spent the next 13 hours torturing myself thinking that they had basically shat all over it, thinking it was ridiculous, didn’t serve any basic purpose, and was a monumental waste of time. When I finally did get the document open the next morning to read the comments, I laughed when I read the very first comment which was (again paraphrasing), this is a good idea, but may be difficult to execute in the field.
The joke was totally on me!! Of course I know that the changes I propose will be difficult to execute in the field...any kind of change is hard. And it will take lots of effort from my former office to bring people up to speed on the changes, because they are complex and nuanced. But, in the end, my best piece of work was pretty damn good. Not perfect…not by a long shot...but a good starting point from which someone else can continue to incorporate stakeholder input for a much improved final product.
My last post was a few months ago, and I feel like a lifetime has happened since then. I started working with a coach, ostensibly in preparation for managing 225 people, but really that was just the excuse I used to give myself permission to do it. It has a lot more with wanting to reach my full potential, and feeling stuck professionally. I know I can do more, be better, live more fully, and since I identify a lot with work, that felt like a safe place for progress.
During our most recent session, my Coach asked what I wanted to discuss. I had three things I wanted to get through: my reaction to her previous assignment which was to pay attention to why people tell me they want to work for me again, some closure for the job I just finished at CG-751, and plans for the upcoming two weeks before our next session. Honestly, I didn’t know that’s what I wanted to talk about with her before the session, but it sounded like a good framework, nice and manageable, so that’s what I went with.
We started with my observations about why people want to work with or for me again. I said that I’m authentic; people know what they’re getting with me, I don’t pull punches or try to sugar coat things, and I think that encourages them to trust me. And I value input. Lawd knows, I don’t have all the answers, and have learned that the best way to get them is to ask questions, and then listen to the answers. It makes people feel valued to have their opinions and expertise asked for and taken into account. That doesn’t mean that I take what people say as completely actionable gospel truth all the time; I do, however, somehow manage to convey that I appreciate their input.
And then we talked about finishing up at CG-751. I told her I had officially left the office, but still had one briefing left to do because I was a control freak and couldn’t let this one project go before doing the initial brief for CG-821 and CG-0921. She wouldn’t let me get away with the “control freak” comment, saying I said it like it was a bad thing. And I guess I’ve always interpreted it that way, or let other people interpret it that way for me. What I ended up realizing I actually meant was that I was the best person to give the brief because I spent innumerable hours studying the subject, asking for stakeholder input, identifying and clarifying the nuances, and distilling what I knew into a revised instruction. That’s what made me the right person for the brief, not that I’m a control freak.
Somehow through that discussion we got into my service reputation, and how I didn’t want to screw up briefing -821/-0921. I told her the story of the initial round of input I got from those two offices: a colleague consolidated comments from the offices and forwarded it back to me in an email that said (paraphrasing), there are some concerns with this. I saw the initial email on my cell phone, which meant that I couldn’t open the document to immediately read the comments and then spent the next 13 hours torturing myself thinking that they had basically shat all over it, thinking it was ridiculous, didn’t serve any basic purpose, and was a monumental waste of time. When I finally did get the document open the next morning to read the comments, I laughed when I read the very first comment which was (again paraphrasing), this is a good idea, but may be difficult to execute in the field.
The joke was totally on me!! Of course I know that the changes I propose will be difficult to execute in the field...any kind of change is hard. And it will take lots of effort from my former office to bring people up to speed on the changes, because they are complex and nuanced. But, in the end, my best piece of work was pretty damn good. Not perfect…not by a long shot...but a good starting point from which someone else can continue to incorporate stakeholder input for a much improved final product.
Again, I’m not sure how it came up in the conversation...probably something about feeling like I need to prove myself to my CG-821 Seagull shipmates, that I am terrified of my own success. Like scared to death that I am actually as good as people tell me I am. It feels too much like Icarus flying too close to the sun, and having the wax melt off his wings, and then plunging, unstoppable and crashing with all bones broken into the sea below. Like I might start to believe my own mythology that I really am that good, and that’s just asking for disaster, maybe because of Murphy, but more likely because I may stop doing the things that actually make me good.
So, Coach asked me to do a little exercise. I got up from my seat, and started from a mental point of authenticity and wanting and valuing other people’s input. I walked towards a mental point of believing my own mythology. And, oddly enough, right before I got there, I just stopped. I didn’t want to go any further. There was reluctance in my bones of being too full of myself, too taken by my success to listen to what other people have to offer. It was an interesting exercise.
Afterwards, as we discussed how that little walking trip of a couple of steps felt, I described it as feeling like I could now see the chasm that existed between trusting my values (listening to other people and being authentically me) and my fear of success. That chasm is my fear of believing my mythology to the exclusion of things I value. I felt a bridge slowly being built, just by recognizing that the chasm was there.
I know this sounds all very woo-woo in plain black words on the page, but it felt important and foundational.
She also suggested I read, The Secret Thoughts of Highly Successful Women, by Valerie Young. I’m about four chapters into it, and identify deeply with the Impostor Syndrome she discusses: A childhood where I was assumed to be the smartest one in my class -- check (I skipped 1st grade, was reading at a 5th grade level at the start of 2nd grade, had to take as many AP courses as possible in lieu of the vocational classes I actually wanted to take, graduated high school at 16, and college was *always* and inescapably the next step after high school...never mind always being on the Honor Roll and a member of the Honor Society, and getting high SAT scores); being different than the majority...most obviously a woman in a man’s vocation -- check (starting with working on a farm at age of 14 (side story below about that, which I absolutely *love*) and learning to drive a tractor, working on the farm through college and wanting to work with the animals but being relegated to the greenhouse because that’s where all the girls worked, then on to graduate school where somehow my research fields were the only ones ruined when the drainage ditches were dredged into my plots, and well, then into the Coast Guard and especially on to Coast Guard cutters, where, even though I had a guaranteed District coming out of boot camp, there was only one ship I could go to because it was the only one in the district that had enlisted female berthing) but also just by being different -- check (an OCSer in a fleet of Academy grads and having stepped my first foot on Coast Guard ship at the age of 26 for my OCS interview and then five short sea service years later, finding myself in command of a cutter...in a war zone, no less, without the benefit of all the semesters of Nautical Science or summers underway); and feeling like the representative woman in that man’s world who took on responsibility for the entire gender with my performance -- check (after telling a group of (male) Navy peers that I successfully screened for command having one of them say, “Must be nice to be a girl,” “Not everyone is Wonder Woman like you are, OPS,” being the only woman on my last three ships for at least a year...which I wouldn’t give up for the world, but definitely left me feeling like my gender difference made me...different).
So it’s been an interesting read. One great insight I realized from reading it is the difference between thinking and feeling. I can rationalize that I’m good at my job; in fact, I’ve said it numerous times, “cognitively, I know I’m good at what I do.” But thinking won’t get me out of the Impostor Syndrome, because it’s something I feel. I feel like an imposter. I have to *feel* my way out of it. For someone who was absolutely *all* “T” in my last Myers-Briggs test...well, that’s an interesting and daunting realization.
Now on to the fun story about the Farm: a few nights before I left DC, I went for dinner with Leigh and Lynn and Merle from the Farm I worked on in high school, starting when I was 14. That was definitely one of the best things about living in DC for me, was being able to reconnect with the Farm folks. Lynn and Guy, two of the owners, especially, were very influential in my formative years. It’s so lovely to go back to the Farm and jump in, with minimal task direction, and just know what needs to be done. I’m pretty sure I can pack a peck of peaches with my eyes closed...which I would *NEVER* do, Lynn, because how else would I see if there were any blemishes on the fruit before placing it carefully, stem side down in the basket.
Before we sat down for dinner, Lynn and Leigh presented me with a gift bag, all nicely tied up with colorful ribbon. I unwrapped the white packing paper, and saw my original tractor operator and tractor safety training certificate wonderfully framed, ready to hang on the wall in my next office (when I got home, I immediately put it in my checked baggage to make sure I’d have it with me when I got to Bahrain). Lynn and Leigh had been cleaning out the Farm’s office, and had stumbled across the originals of a few of us young oldtimers in the files. It was dated June 1988, signed in blue and black ink by the two instructors. I hadn’t thought about that class in decades, but it was probably my first professional accomplishment. I was so touched that they framed it and gave it to me.
So, Coach asked me to do a little exercise. I got up from my seat, and started from a mental point of authenticity and wanting and valuing other people’s input. I walked towards a mental point of believing my own mythology. And, oddly enough, right before I got there, I just stopped. I didn’t want to go any further. There was reluctance in my bones of being too full of myself, too taken by my success to listen to what other people have to offer. It was an interesting exercise.
Afterwards, as we discussed how that little walking trip of a couple of steps felt, I described it as feeling like I could now see the chasm that existed between trusting my values (listening to other people and being authentically me) and my fear of success. That chasm is my fear of believing my mythology to the exclusion of things I value. I felt a bridge slowly being built, just by recognizing that the chasm was there.
I know this sounds all very woo-woo in plain black words on the page, but it felt important and foundational.
She also suggested I read, The Secret Thoughts of Highly Successful Women, by Valerie Young. I’m about four chapters into it, and identify deeply with the Impostor Syndrome she discusses: A childhood where I was assumed to be the smartest one in my class -- check (I skipped 1st grade, was reading at a 5th grade level at the start of 2nd grade, had to take as many AP courses as possible in lieu of the vocational classes I actually wanted to take, graduated high school at 16, and college was *always* and inescapably the next step after high school...never mind always being on the Honor Roll and a member of the Honor Society, and getting high SAT scores); being different than the majority...most obviously a woman in a man’s vocation -- check (starting with working on a farm at age of 14 (side story below about that, which I absolutely *love*) and learning to drive a tractor, working on the farm through college and wanting to work with the animals but being relegated to the greenhouse because that’s where all the girls worked, then on to graduate school where somehow my research fields were the only ones ruined when the drainage ditches were dredged into my plots, and well, then into the Coast Guard and especially on to Coast Guard cutters, where, even though I had a guaranteed District coming out of boot camp, there was only one ship I could go to because it was the only one in the district that had enlisted female berthing) but also just by being different -- check (an OCSer in a fleet of Academy grads and having stepped my first foot on Coast Guard ship at the age of 26 for my OCS interview and then five short sea service years later, finding myself in command of a cutter...in a war zone, no less, without the benefit of all the semesters of Nautical Science or summers underway); and feeling like the representative woman in that man’s world who took on responsibility for the entire gender with my performance -- check (after telling a group of (male) Navy peers that I successfully screened for command having one of them say, “Must be nice to be a girl,” “Not everyone is Wonder Woman like you are, OPS,” being the only woman on my last three ships for at least a year...which I wouldn’t give up for the world, but definitely left me feeling like my gender difference made me...different).
So it’s been an interesting read. One great insight I realized from reading it is the difference between thinking and feeling. I can rationalize that I’m good at my job; in fact, I’ve said it numerous times, “cognitively, I know I’m good at what I do.” But thinking won’t get me out of the Impostor Syndrome, because it’s something I feel. I feel like an imposter. I have to *feel* my way out of it. For someone who was absolutely *all* “T” in my last Myers-Briggs test...well, that’s an interesting and daunting realization.
Now on to the fun story about the Farm: a few nights before I left DC, I went for dinner with Leigh and Lynn and Merle from the Farm I worked on in high school, starting when I was 14. That was definitely one of the best things about living in DC for me, was being able to reconnect with the Farm folks. Lynn and Guy, two of the owners, especially, were very influential in my formative years. It’s so lovely to go back to the Farm and jump in, with minimal task direction, and just know what needs to be done. I’m pretty sure I can pack a peck of peaches with my eyes closed...which I would *NEVER* do, Lynn, because how else would I see if there were any blemishes on the fruit before placing it carefully, stem side down in the basket.
Before we sat down for dinner, Lynn and Leigh presented me with a gift bag, all nicely tied up with colorful ribbon. I unwrapped the white packing paper, and saw my original tractor operator and tractor safety training certificate wonderfully framed, ready to hang on the wall in my next office (when I got home, I immediately put it in my checked baggage to make sure I’d have it with me when I got to Bahrain). Lynn and Leigh had been cleaning out the Farm’s office, and had stumbled across the originals of a few of us young oldtimers in the files. It was dated June 1988, signed in blue and black ink by the two instructors. I hadn’t thought about that class in decades, but it was probably my first professional accomplishment. I was so touched that they framed it and gave it to me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
