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. 

All Lines Over

I wrote this post on 2 May 2021, and am just now getting to posting it now. I've done that for the last bunch of posts -- my apologies for any confusion with the timeline of things. I think I have one more backlogged post, and then I'll be back to writing in real time.

**********************

And just like that, my last patrol is over. Lines are made up and doubled up, engines are shut down, steering is secured, the brow is over, and shore ties are providing hotel services. I have no surprise left in me that the patrol didn't go like we planned. 

We spent the first ten-ish days working for D5, investigating the foreign fishing fleet operating between the US and Bermudan EEZs about 300 miles offshore. We got them some great imagery which helped them in their discussions with the Regional Fisheries Management Office, and may open discussions with partner nations about licensing and enforcement options. We got a little beat up by the weather after the first few days, and the last few days of that stretch kinda fizzled as another cutter took over lead on the operation. We made it back to homeport for a couple day port call. 

And then we broke. I vaguely remember an issue with one of the generators, but I can't for the life of me remember the specifics right now. We sent a couple crewmembers driving to Baltimore to pick up a part we needed, and lost two days to waiting on parts and making repairs. We were back underway, in the middle of an underway Officer of the Deck (OOD) board for one of the junior officers when we set General Emergency (GE) for flooding in the engine room.

Because, why not? on my last patrol.

One of the break-ins was doing drawings between the mains, and noticed some water that was flowing, but not in sync with how the ship was moving. Looking around, he found where it was flowing out of a pipe, and called a watchstander over. (I love this part of the story that I heard about later when we were back inport). The watchstander put his finger over the leak to keep it from continuing, while he radioed to Main Control for back up. More folks showed up, and by this time the hole in the raw water supply line was about 1". I think this is about when we set GE. I got a phone call (still in the underway OOD board) from EO who was in the engine room (he had left the board about three minutes prior), telling me we had a hole in the raw water supply line to the NR2 MDE, recommend we set GE for main space flooding.

Now, when my EO, with 21 years of engineering experience, 8+ years of sea time, who was a former Chief Damage Controlman tells me we should set GE for flooding, I'm not gonna fuck around! I ran up to the bridge, wondering why they hadn't made the pipe yet...only to find that our 1MC was down. I told the QMOW to start calling berthing areas to get people moving. I took the Conn and then the Deck so the OOD could get down to his billet in the repair locker, and people started arriving on the bridge...including ET1 who quickly got told to go fix the 1MC.

They put in a 3" plug, and the metal was so deteriorated, the hole just got bigger as the plug was jammed in. They got the engine shut down, and secured the valves to the raw water pipe. Even with two valves between the sea chest and the damage, we still had some water leaking through, but nothing like we originally had. The attack team finally got synthoglass installed, and we waited the 30 minutes for it to cure. By this time, other OODs had come to the bridge, and I relinquished the Deck and Conn. We turned around for a down swell ride to give the guys in the engine room a more steady platform. Just happened that this put us in the direction of returning to port for repairs. I don't know that I ever had more than a passing thought that there was another option but to go home and get fixed. I guess we could have stayed underway with the synthoglass repair, and make a permanent repair later...but it just made sense to me that we shouldn't take that risk when the safety offered by a close port was so near. In hindsight, looking at what the pipe looked like when they got it cleaned up, I know I made the right choice.

We got back to homeport before sunset that evening, and it took about four days for the system to get our repairs in place. At that point, we only had about a week left to work for D1, and we made the most of some amazingly calm weather to knock out 21 boardings in two days in the scallop fleet operating about 120 miles east of Cape Cod. The weather turned to crap after that, so we found some safe haven in Long Island Sound to wait out the blow...until we got recalled for SAR the morning of the day it was supposed to get really bad offshore. 

OPS called me at 0500 that morning, "Captain, got some bad news..." It would have been out of character for me not to cuss, and I value predictability as a leader, so yeah, I cussed. One of the fishing vessels in the fleet we had just left broke down, and was being towed back to shore by another fishing vessel, making 2 knots towards port. The on-scene weather was 6-8 foot seas, and building. We were tasked with heading out that way to escort them back to port. About four hours into our 220 mile transit out to them, they reported that the tow had broke, and now the fishing vessel was dead in the water. They reported on scene weather of 18 feet (I'm a little skeptical of that...but then again, I wasn't there...). We picked up the pace to get out to them, as much as we could with a building 10-foot following sea, and got on scene at about 2300. Weren't no way I was attempting a tow at that hour in the 13 foot seas we were seeing -- they were stable, just uncomfortable, so we waited until daybreak the next day to set the Towing Bill. Weather had abated just a smidge to about 10 foot seas, still with winds in the low 30 kts. 

I hadn't slept much that night, both from the crappy ride and from worrying about how the hell we were gonna get the vessel in tow. Having slept in the wardroom to get a marginally better ride, I woke up super early, and reminded myself to stay calm, not rush today of all days, and give people the time they needed to do this massively risky evolution safely without constantly nagging them for updates. We were finally ready to make our approach at about 0930. 

And I'm pretty sure angels sang that morning. It's happened a handful of times throughout my career where the moment is so supremely sublime that there's no other earthly explanation for the coming together so completely of an experience. 

As we approached the fishing vessel, a pod of about six humpbacks started breaching around the boat. One of them stuck their snout straight up out of the water about eight feet, looking around to see what was going on -- just a, "hey guys, whatcha doing?" peek. OPS was driving -- he is a masterful shipdriver (I'm good -- he's on another level of skill entirely). He asked if we wanted to make a practice pass. We decided that if we had a good shot, we should take it. His approach was lovely, very controlled and working with the environmental elements. It was a combo crossing-the-T and 45 approach, with just enough of an angle to use the power of the engines into the wind to control our bow. The fishing boat had their scallop basket on the bottom which was keeping them stern-to, almost quartering the seas, and definitely slowed their rate of drift. Guns (GM1) was a little early with the line-throwing gun, and the first shot got blown within 20 feet of their bow, but didn't make it over. So we came around for another approach.

Which was just as good as the first one, maybe even a tetch closer. My only contribution was at one point telling OPS that his bow was falling off to starboard and we needed to come left a little more to keep the good approach angle. Pretty sure he already saw that because he had the rudder going over before I got all the words out of my mouth. Guns got a great shot this time, sent the shot line up into the fishing boat's mast. The tricky part was definitely holding station while the fishing boat crew hauled around on nearly 1,200 feet of shot line, messengers, and finally got the double-legged bridle up through their bow chocks. We spent most of the time on the bridge marveling at the show the humpbacks were putting on. OPS kept us right there, adjusting as needed when it looked like we were closing up more than was comfortable...but was perfectly timed to help them get all the line over on their deck and the bridle hooked up. We started easing out the line, til we had a 1,000 feet of towline at the rail. Bit was made, and we settled into it. 

Our trackline back to shore was straight into the seas. We were only able to make 2 kts also -- didn't want to risk parting our towline with shockloading it. And so we towed. Their ride looked awful, but at least they were making way again.

The weather continued to settle down ever so slowly throughout the day, and by daybreak the next morning, we were making 4.5 to 5 kts. Which was a damn good thing, because we had only gone about 30 miles overnight from where we picked them up. About 0800 that morning, they radioed over, saying they had gotten their engine started and wanted to break tow. They could make better time under their own power. 

Another super smooth evolution and we were escorting them back to Martha's Vineyard. By Saturday night, we were close enough that another asset could respond if they had any more trouble, and we broke station to head south. We were gonna be late for TSTA one way or another. 

We were supposed to start TSTA at 0800 on Monday. We got ATO onboard by around 1030, so we weren't that far behind, and were back on track with our syllabus by the end of the day. We got some good training out of TSTA, but of course, it didn't go quite as planned. We ended up anchoring a day early, under a safe to sail waiver because we had the $0.30 o-ring onboard to fix the fuel leak on the NR2 SSDG fuel injector pump cylinder, but we didn't have the $15 specialized spline wrench to swap out the o-ring. Oh, and by the time we got to anchorage, we were having problems with the emergency switchboard buss breaker again. Just seemed to make more sense to anchor, get the wrench, fix the SSDG, and then get back to port to do the remaining inport drills so we didn't have to worry about the EDG not being able to automatically take the load if we lost power from the SSDG.

Oops, but we forgot to implement strict water conservation while at anchorage, so we ended up securing sewage Thursday morning just in time for reveille. Smf.

We moored at Base Portsmouth at 0930 on Thursday morning, tucked up into the southern-most inshore berth with an on-the-dock wind. OPS asked me if I wanted to drive in. Of *course* I wanted to drive in!! But that's not my role right now, and the JOs have few opportunities to handle the ship alongside a pier as it is, so SUPPO drove in, and did a great job of it. And there we'll stay until after the Change of Command (barring any early season hurricanes that might cause us to have to sortie...). 

I am joyously relieved to not have the added risk to ship and personnel of being underway. And I am heart-broken and soul-crushed that I won't ever again be a part of a Coast Guard crew sailing off to that unknown horizon, ready to take it all on together. 

On The Eve

28 March 2021

And here I am, somehow on the eve of departing for my last patrol. And with The Universe's sense of exceptional timing, Southern Cross is playing on Pandora. It's been 14 years since I've been south of the Equator to see the Southern Cross, but that song has always been one of my favorites, and became even more special after that first patrol on HAMILTON where we crossed the line. 

I'm well on the way with my patrol preps. 7 days of smoothies made and in the freezer turning solid - check. One batch of granola made for once the smoothies run out - check. A goodly number of podcasts downloaded - check. One more batch of booch bottled and SCOBY hoteled - check. Sheets are in the laundry, I still have to pack the daily sundries, and I'd be a damn fool if I didn't find a few more books to take with me. 

Greg asked me recently how I was feeling about getting underway. It was far enough before we left that I wasn't really in full prep mode so I gave him a kind of non-answer. I think my answer is different today. Today I'm nostalgic about temporary loss of the comforts of my home, mourning the separation from sleeping in my own bed, how the light streams through the living room windows to burnish the wood furniture, making dinner for myself or just having an apple with cheese at a reasonable hour, running through my neighborhood in the blossoming spring, my kitties' foibles and quirks that I'll miss over the next few weeks. 

Now is not the time to be thinking of all the reasons I love going to sea. It would ring a little hollow. I'm sure I'll feel different on the eve of returning from patrol -- especially from this one.

This is a short patrol, only 31 days, god willin' and the crick don't rise...with the caveat added because we didn't get to finish our last patrol as planned because of generator issues...like multiple issues on both SSDGs. Given how the pandemic changed so many things, I know I didn't get to have the experience I wanted from my last tour at sea. I'm pissed about it and recognize that being pissed about it doesn't change the reality of it but only prevents me from making the most of what I can from it -- I stay in my own damn way if I hold onto being mad and grumpy and dispossessed by it. 

I'm nervous about the weather. My sea sickness has abated over the years, but I know other people's hasn't and it's just exhausting to get tossed about. We're going pretty far offshore, with no good places to run if it gets really gross. OPS' observation was to find a good ride, which thankfully we should have the flexibility to do -- mostly. 

Ugh, and just ugh, the middle of the night phone calls. I know the OODs feel bad about calling me, and they're following my orders, and I **want** them to call if they need to -- but fuck! that achy-ness in my very bones that settles in after a few nights of not getting un-interrupted sleep, and always having some part of my consciousness attuned to the sounds of the ship. It is a very physical reminder of the ultimate responsibility inherent to command. I wouldn't have it any other way -- and there are small moments I rue the truth of it. 

Maybe now is the time to remind myself of why I love going to sea...:) There is a lessening of self, and integration into a greater whole.

Instead, I'm gonna go enjoy some quality time lounging on my couch, reading a book, and hoping a cat deigns to come keep me company.

Next Step in Retirement Planning, COCON Realizations, and a Spectrum of Approaches to Risk

7 Mar 2021

This session I was supposed to write about my retirement to-do list, how I wanted to approach it. Makes me want to poke myself in the eye because it would suck less. Just, blech. I think my reaction is partly because I'm slightly overwhelmed by all of everything I need and want to do. Like right now, I really want to post to Facebook a "Save the Date" notice for my Change of Command because that's a small concrete task that I could knock out pretty easily, but first I really should wait for confirmation of the date/time from Area, and then figure out if I want to have my party/celebration the same day as the COC and retirement ceremonies, but first I really should talk to my sister, who is likely traveling the furthest to hopefully attend...and each little task hydras into about four other things I should do first, and my heart starts to pound a little harder and my head hurts. And with that particular task (posting a Save the Date to FB) will likely spawn into lots and lots of comments from friends and family that I will really want to savor and respond to with thoughtfulness...and I'm not sure I'm ready to make that time commitment yet either. I'm punting a lot of this stuff to our ROM that starts in a week.

My other quandary is a little embarrassingly pedantic. I've already admitted my penchant for writing Important Things in rando places I can't find them later. I also have about five different journals going simultaneously -- even one dedicated specifically to retirement planning. So yes -- I've just decided that notebook is where I will write down my to-do/action item lists for each of my goals. Maybe this way I'll even finish up using the whole journal specifically on retirement. Wouldn't that be a personal gold star for me! :)

And with that subject addressed, I'll go on with other fun (to me) things. 

This past week was the Area Major Cutter Commanding Officers Conference (COCON). It was virtual, which in some ways was great (I participated from an "offsite work location," i.e., down in Wilmington, NC so I could close on my new property, and we got some guests in that likely wouldn't have been able to participate if they had to travel to New London) and in some ways was just not very satisfying (six hours a day in front of the screen, frequent mic checks by new speakers, all the lost sidebar conversations and camaraderie that were the best part of the previous COCONs I went to). 

One point finally did sink in for me at some point during the week...this past year in command during COVID was...something. I don't know if it was all the three- and four-star (well, except VCG) Admirals and lots of other members in senior leadership acknowledging the sacrifices being make by major cutter crews, or if it was the sense of awe and tangible respect I saw in the eyes of a couple of Prospective Commanding Officers (PCOs) when they heard us talking about how sitting COs made it through the year. I mean, I've read the thanks in every message and email senior leadership has sent out, and it's been said at each of the couple of engagements they've had, but somehow those all just felt like platitudes -- something they had to say at the beginning and end of each communique -- the gratitude sandwich that contains the actual message they wanted to get across, whether it was a policy change or update on something. Maybe it was the consistent reinforcement throughout the week, and the genuineness with which many of them spoke that caused me to finally believe it was heart-felt.

Maybe it's the realization that other people saw how much this year has sucked on a major cutter that made me sit up a little straighter and be a little more proud that I've seen it through so far...maybe not with all the grace and brilliance I would have wanted being the perfectionist that I am, but I did get us through some pretty shitty times. It'll take me a while to unpack all my experiences from this year, and more broadly this tour, but I'm grateful for the opportunity COCON gave me to see it from another perspective.

And for some reason this past week, I started thinking about a risk engagement spectrum. People engage with risk along this spectrum -- from risk seeking at one end to risk rejection at the other end. The named levels I identified are:

-- risk seeking
-- risk accepting

-- risk tolerant

-- risk avoidant

-- risk rejecting

The whole thought experience started when I was thinking about my real estate purchasing adventures, from the very first house I bought (putting an offer in on a house in Waialua, HI without having seen the inside of it because if I waited to see it, someone else would have it under contract because that's how hot the market was then -- sound familiar, anyone?) to the property I just closed on (again, putting an offer in before having seen it because I knew it was great deal, and someone else would have snapped it up if I didn't). I was trying to label that, thinking at first I was demonstrating risk tolerance. But that didn't seem quite right -- tolerance implies a resistance to something...I tolerate cleaning the cats' litter box because it's a requisite part of owning indoor cats, but I'd sure rather someone else did it for me. 

So I went through my mental thesaurus to see if there was a better word for recognizing the risk of making a major purchase without all the desired information and moving ahead regardless, and came up with risk acceptance. I accept that there is risk to how I approach my real estate purchases, and move ahead anyway with out all the resistance implied by risk "tolerance." 

I like where I am on the risk spectrum, tending towards less resistant end. I acknowledge that some of what I do is even risk seeking -- motorcycle riding and this crazy idea for a standup paddle board trip down the Intercoastal Waterway I'm planning for July to September are two examples that come readily to mind in my personal life. For me I've found that my life is sweeter and more fulfilling on this end. And I respect other people's right to live where they want on the risk spectrum, as long as their risk aversions don't impede my choices. 

Action Steps

21 March 2021

I took a couple of weeks away from writing about my retirement planning. Some was for work, some was for fun...and it was time away from writing about it, because heaven knows, I still spend plenty!! of time thinking about it. Today, I'm sitting down to write some action steps for each of my goals in each of my buckets. 

And what I'm finding is that it's not time yet for Action Steps. I already have plans in place, or things in motion to make things happen -- and there are definitely actions that I can take to move those things along (buy gear for the SUP trip; make a decision about building a new passive solar house at Pond Place, set up calendar reminders for Important Adulting Tasks). There are also many things it's simply not time for yet, like learning to surf (just BBBRRRRRR right now!), finding meaningful projects to work on, or take classes. Maybe this is where I can make determinations about "now" and "later" on particular goals. Because some days, when I get too far into thinking about how much there is that I want to do, I get overwhelmed, and don't do what I could be doing now. 

One of my Home Goals is to "adapt my forever home to my needs and wants." And I just get stuck on that -- there is just so much to do with the property. Bite sized bits, C...bite sized bits. After talking to a couple contractors, and realizing that it may not be worth it to try to save the old house (as much as my heart aches to), we've been looking at Deltec Homes, the Ridgeline F particularly. There are so many reasons I like it: passive solar, ready to be net-zero with the installation of solar panels, the company is a B Corp based in North Carolina, the pond is on the south side of the property so all the big windows will face the pond, we can customize the design. There are also so many reasons I'm terrified of it: it'll probably cost $350k+ to build (which seems like a lot of money for some reason even though I've spent more on that on other houses that weren't custom designed), there's a lot that goes into building a house that I am completely clueless about (it's interesting to me that my reaction to doing something I've never done before is so timid), what if we can't find a good builder or a good builder that can work on our timeline. 

And so my very first action step for this Home Goal is, "Acknowledge I want to build a Deltec Home." Because that's where I feel like it all starts. Right now I'm in that pre-decisional space that I find so uncomfortable, and my mental hamster is sprinting along on her wheel getting nowhere but exhausted...where all the what ifs grow to be unclimbable mountains and spawn monsters with glowing eyes and poison-dripping teeth. I definitely get overloaded with too many choices, so being able to narrow down to choosing a particular home design helps...and I have to refer back to the "bite-sized bits" reminder when I start thinking about all the choices that will come up when I do decide to go with Deltec. 

Back to deciding "now" or "later" for my goals...

What is Ending -- Step 3

21 Feb 2021

"You can’t do something new until you have let go of what you are currently doing." 

That's the most powerful statement to me from William Bridges Associates' (WBA) article The Three Questions. The article goes on to talk about how even "good" changes start from a place of losing what has been, what is familiar, and how not acknowledging this loss can delay the transition. Taking the time to articulate and understand that loss builds trust, allows issues to come to light, and can help with identifying tools to manage through the transition. 

There are two questions that come before this one, though. The questions WBA offer are:

• What is changing?
• What will be different because of the change?
• Who's going to lose what?

Seems I love me some bulletized lists.

What is changing? 

"The planners know only that there needs to be change in response to some threatening presence or some great opportunity “out there...” But until that vagueness can be clarified and until the leaders of the change can explain it clearly, in a statement lasting no longer than one minute, there is no way that they are going to be able to get other people to buy into the change...And be sure that the statement ties the change to whatever situation it is that makes the change important."

After 22 years of active duty service, I am retiring to pursue unidentified and varied opportunities in the civilian world. These opportunities will allow me to grow personally in new ways, give me a deep sense of being rooted in a place, and enable me to cultivate my community intentionally. 

What will be different because of the change?

"A change may seem very important and very real to the leader, but to the people who have to make it work it seems quite abstract and vague until actual differences that it will make begin to become clear."

I will be responsible for my own decisions. There won't be a detailer or an operational commander to blame when my schedule goes haywire or I don't end up liking what I've chosen to do with my time. I am geographically moving after a summer of travel, and there are a ton of unknowns associated with that upheaval (will I be able to feed myself and have safe places to sleep on my SUP trip, where will we stay for MerleFest, will I be physically able to hike the Inca Trail given the intense elevation, how long will the renovations on the Pond Place house take, how much will they cost, do we want to immediately or even simultaneously build a second house on the property, when can we get chickens and ducks, what kind of fence should we put up as a barrier to the Very Busy Road...).

I will be responsible for *only* my own decisions. I won't have the weight of other peoples' safety, sense of personal and professional fulfillment, or consequences of their personal choices hanging over me. No more phone calls or texts at all hours with imperfect and incomplete information that I'm expected by my bosses, my organization, the American public to make good decisions about and take appropriate and timely action on. 

I may not feel the external, enterprise-driven pressure to keep performing at a higher and higher level, always taking on more responsibility (but then again, knowing me, I may...). There are no longer any OERs against which to judge my efforts since I've already submitted my continuity OER(!!). For now, and until my Change of Command, I still exist under the considerable threat of a relief for cause if I screw up. It shouldn't be any other way, *and* I'll be glad when that sword of Damocles is lifted from over my head.

I will have more time to thoroughly pursue my own interests. No more pressure to feel like I should be doing more for the crew and ship. No more feeling vaguely guilty at taking 20 minutes to stretch in the morning before work. No more feeling like I don't have the time to dive into something because I'll be leaving in a month to get underway for patrol or leaving the local area on PCS, and what's the point about starting something that I'll just have to put down too soon anyway. 

Who is going to lose what?

"For it is by asking that question, that you open the door to the transitions that people will have to make if the change is to work. It is that question that helps them to let go of the old way, so that the new way can be established and work."

I thought my answer was just going to be about what I stand to lose. I tear up when I realize it is not.

I will lose:

-- more than half the pay I've gotten accustomed to spending and saving over the last few years. Good-bye, BAH and sea pay...

-- a sense of purpose that gets me out of the house and into a more social setting on a regular and expected basis

-- relevancy to my adopted afloat community; as soon as I say, "I stand relieved" my relevant experience is outdated and obsolete (though not as grossly obsolete as the 1MC system on most CG ships...)

-- immediate and regular access to people younger than I am, from an amazing and inspiring array of backgrounds and upbringings, with all their energy and enthusiasm, interests and ways of thinking

-- a familiar way of navigating the military benefits system. Hello, VA. Just, ugh...

-- the shock factor they experience and significant amount of humble pride I feel when I tell people I am Commanding Officer of a 210-foot Coast Guard ship, with a crew of 80 sailors, conducting law enforcement, national defense and humanitarian missions throughout the Atlantic Ocean; I mean, seriously -- mic drop

-- the satisfaction of coming up with creative and holistically sound (no "easy buttons" here!) paths through perniciously tricky operational, personnel, and administrative challenges

-- unfettered access to the deep blue sea, all her mysteries, monsters, beauties, and breathtaking changeability; the sense of possibility that comes of looking out at the far horizon; the blanket of stars and the company of the Milky Way and the moon; the risk-mitigated adventure of sailing out through the last set of gated pairs, past the sea buoy into the unknown and unexpected

The Coast Guard is losing me,:

-- a driven, caring, experienced leader who is thoughtful, self-aware, empathetic, and a good communicator

-- a change agent who is willing to speak out and share my experiences when I feel they will offer a perspective different from the prevailing majority in pursuit of long term organizational benefit

-- a damn fine shipdriver and operator

-- a female senior officer in the afloat community...we're sadly very rare. By my records, CDR Anne O'Connell will be only the 20th woman to take major cutter command this summer; it has been over 25 years since then CDR Beverly Kelley took command of her WMEC -- a piss poor record given the CG's stated commitment to diversity...

I thought about adding what my shipmates will lose; however, I will still always be available to my shipmates as a sounding board, celebrator of successes, commiserator of stumbles, and sea-story teller and listener. Just the means of access will change.

I feel like there are more things to be added to what will be different and who will lose what. I should remind myself to do a reprisal on this post at the six-month-ish post-retirement mark. There -- reminder set for 2 Jan 2022.

In my next session, I will work on Step 2b: Identify at least one Action Item for each goal...though I think more realistically, it will be about setting up how I will do that or maybe what I am learning from the process, because grinding through making my "to do" list on the blog sounds like a sure way of getting people to stop reading it!

Step 2a, Part 2 -- it's not as boring as it sounds, I promise!

14 Feb 2021

I didn't write last weekend because I was down in Wilmington looking at the property I'm buying, now known as Pond Place (at least until we settle on a better, more knowledgeable name for it). It is everything I thought it would be and more. I'm in the throes of dreaming about it now that I have a better mental picture of it -- So Many Fun Things to ponder with it. I think I may have rotted my brain a little yesterday with looking at all the images of "small homes open concept eclectic farmhouse" designs. I was going to go with "boho" but apparently that means you have to have a swinging chair in the room...

Back to Step 2a, though. I made it through the first three buckets the last time I wrote, and my goal for this morning (or what's left of this Valentine's Day morning after making blueberry muffins for breakfast, bottling batch #10 and brewing batch #15 of kombucha) is to finish writing down my aspirations -- maybe not so much goals as Greg pointed out to me what I'm putting on paper aren't SMART goals -- for the remaining five buckets.

• Home 
• Employment
• Physical Health
• Hobbies/Interests/Life-long Learning
• Finances
• Self Care
• Relationships
• Travel

Hobbies/Interests/Life-long Learning: Stop learning, start dying. I have so much to say here, I'm going to come back to this one after I've cleared through the others.

Finances: As I said, I don't need a job; my pension will see me through daily expenses as long as I'm not overly extravagant. When I first started thinking about retiring this summer, one of the very first things I did was to put together a budget to see where I'd be. I've been using mint.com for the last 12 years or so to track my spending, so I had pretty good data on what my spending habits have been. I know they'll change somewhat, but I really don't expect them to be vastly different...maybe actually a little lower since I won't have the boom/bust cycle of preparing for (high spending) and going on patrol (low spending) and since the cost of living in Wilmington is maybe a little less than Norfolk. But there still will be some things to consider.

• Set up automatic tithing donations, either to my charitable donations account or directly to the organizations I chose to support. Sadly, I've fallen off with my giving these last couple of years, and I definitely want to get back to it. I remember when I was in Bahrain, I did some deep reflection on what my values were and how I wanted those reflected in my donations. I came up with four primary charities to support, and wrote them down...somewhere (*again!* with the rando spot for writing Important Things down!). If I remember correctly, the charities were Doctors Without Borders, Evidence Action, Propublica, and Berea College's (my alma mater) African American Opportunity Fund...though I feel like I'm missing one because I can't believe there's not an environmental cause in there too. So I guess I need to figure out what that will be also.
• Work on my Big Book of Everything. I started it one afternoon a couple of years ago and haven't touched it since. I want to keep adding to it, and make a calendar reminder to review it annually.
• Plan to review my spending habits/budget annually. Make a calendar reminder for this...but probably not on the same day as reviewing my Big Book of Everything because that is just **too much** grown-upedness for one day...in fact, those two events should probably be separated by six months!

Self care: Not quite sure how this one is really different from Physical Health, but I can make a good enough argument to leave it here. 

• Go on a silent retreat. I was scheduled to go on one here in April 2020, but then...COVID. I'll have time and flexibility to try again sometime in 2022.
• Incorporate a meditation/yoga space into Pond Place, maybe even as omg! a tree house!! A girl can dream :)
• Find a new massage therapist in Wilmington. My least favorite part about leaving Norfolk will be not being close enough to my massage therapist here for regular massages. Michael at Flow Massage and Bodywork is hands down (tee hee) the best MT I've ever been to. And he's become a good friend. I am hoping I can find someone in Wilmington who is close to his league. Won't stop me from making an appointment with him anytime I happen to be in Norfolk!
• Seek out live music. I haven't had nearly enough of that in my life lately -- definitely due partly to COVID, but also just work.

Relationships: I wasn't really sure what I intended by including this as a bucket. Thinking it through now, though, I sense that a ring analogy works well here. 

• For my inner ring of closest loved ones, I want to prioritize time with them. Doesn't necessarily have to be in person, though that would be wonderful. I want to remember birthdays and anniversaries, talk regularly, give presents, tell them I love them, and share experiences that make new memories.
• For my close friends and family, I want the same thing...and recognize that life gets busy and everything can't be a priority. I still want to remember birthdays, talk maybe less frequently but regularly, and be fully present when I'm with them.
• For my local community, I want to get to know my neighbors and people I see regularly, support them where I am able, and again be fully present when I'm with them.
• For my professional community, I want to stay in touch. I know I'm going to lose the regular everydayness of going to work and seeing colleagues, but I'd like to maintain those connections I've made over the last 21 years. I am going to selfishly keep my personal email on the community of cutter(wo)men email distribution list when I turn it over to the next caretaker. I would like to tap into the community of local CG retirees in the local area -- goodness knows there are plenty in Wilmington. 

Travel: Oh my, the possibilities are endless! And yet, I know I'll have to actively plan to go places because otherwise it would be oh so easy to just blissfully settle into my daily routine at home and never go beyond 25 miles of Pond Place. 

• Plan at least one big (multi-week, probably international) trip a year.
• Write down a bucket list of places I want to go. I know it's in my head, but writing down things helps me.
• I already have tentative plans for this summer -- action packed with all kinds of fun adventures. Paddle boarding the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) from Norfolk as far south as I can go in about two months starting about two weeks after my Change of Command, then to MerleFest in the NC mountain foothills (I planned to go last year, and yep, COVID-cancelled), then a couple of weeks in Costa Rica with Greg showing me around his adopted home, then down to Peru with Greg for the hiking tour from Cusco to Machu Picchu and some time on the coast at Chicama, and then back to CR to help Greg make his move back to the States, and landing in ILM sometime before Thanksgiving. Yep, that'll keep me travel-satisfied for a little while!

Hobbies/Interests/Life-long Learning: Ok, back to this one. So Many Possibilities!! Especially since I still haven't tapped into my GI Bill, including the $5400 kicker which I vested in back in '99 when that was a thing.

• Write, write, write. I want to write. I want the freedom and the lack of pressure and the time to write. It might be this blog or it might be just a journal for me or it might be something else that I eventually even try to publish. But I want to write! I want it to be something I do regularly and can't imagine not doing.
• First round of classes I'm thinking about taking, with the possibility of various certifications: welding, massage therapy, permaculture design. Just for fun and because I can. Hmm, I see my privilege flaunting itself...
• Explore my entrepreneurial inclinations. I have a couple of hobby-to-business ideas rattling around in my head. Kombucha-brewing, granola-making, and upcycling old ODUs into bags are the top three. 
• Start a sourdough starter, try making sauerkraut, and get into bokashi composting. Explore the microbiome :)

Ok, so maybe there wasn't so much for that last one. But it feels good to get those things officially on the record.

** Step 3: Ready myself for the Ending by talking (writing) about what is ending -- there is *definitely* a blog post (at least one, maybe more) in this step.

In my next session, I will devote time to Step 3, with the intention of exploring what is ending.