The Pipeline: Reflection
Former shipmates reflect on command responsibility and the aftermath. The crucible shapes and the specter haunts long after the watch.
A story by Ian.
A few weeks ago, I met with an old shipmate who served as Operations Officer while I was the Executive Officer, or XO, on Johnston. It had been two years since I last saw Stephanie, back when she was about a year into her own XO tour. And here she was now, shortly after finishing her time as Captain, looking to catch up and chat at a nearby coffee shop while she was in town.
After the normal hellos and how’ve you beens, she told me all about her time in command. The things that went well, things that didn't. Good times, difficult decisions. Memories. Regrets.
I held my latte with both hands, taking slow sips and listening. She never said so, but I got the impression she just needed to let it all out. So much happened, so many stories to tell, so many decision points to relive. And more than just telling the stories, she needed someone there who understood.
One half of my mind stayed right there with her. The other half dusted off the reels in my own memory vault, preparing for a new wave of rumination. In her I saw myself. Always thinking, always working, so many goals, so many plans. When you’re the captain, your work is your life; no balance required.
The captain is the ship. In every course at Surface Warfare Officers School and at every change of command, the Navy reminds us of this line from Joseph Conrad, reinforcing a seemingly impossible standard. And yet, that is exactly how it is in command at sea. There’s no one breathing down your neck to be perfect. The very job silently demands it.
Of course no one is perfect. This is why I suspect every captain feels somewhere in their bones like a failure, no matter how successful they are. And this is why it takes time to fully recover from a job like that.
Stephanie, newly relieved, was a long way from full recovery. She seemed to still be riding the high, the exhilaration of having commanded and no longer carrying the burden of it. When you are relieved of command, you are free. But you are free in the same way that an unmoored, rudderless ship is free. The harbor that sheltered you is no longer safe but is a constrained space full of shoals you are powerless to avoid. She would feel it soon enough.
“Sounds like a tough tour, but you seem to have handled it all really well,” I told her. “A lot happened over the last year and a half. It will take time to process.”
I smiled and finished the last of my coffee.
I didn’t mention I was still processing command eight years after leaving it.
To be continued...
This is a work of fiction based on actual events.
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