The great wide open

When one chapter ends and another begins…and you have no idea what that means.

Photo by Josh Sorenson on Unsplash

I don’t know where to begin this month.

I am all over the place. My mind is all over the place. So, apologies (and yes, I normally live by the ‘never apologize in advance’ rule, but this is a rare exception) while I offer you a rambling collection of thoughts rather than a cohesive essay.

Welcome inside my mind at this moment…

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Since the last time I wrote, my husband retired from the navy. If you’re new to my writing, you should understand that this is a very significant moment for him…for us.

After 34 years of wearing the uniform, I watched with sentimental fascination as he took great care putting it on one last time. The same uniform that he wore on our wedding day, only the rank stripes different. Sitting there on our bed, watching him tuck in the simple white dress shirt and tie the equally nondescript black tie, I thought of all the times I had watched him do that over the years and imagined all the years coming where he would not.

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During a military conference this past February, which was also the last hurrah for me in my quasi-official capacity as a mentor for the next generation of us, someone asked if I would continue mentoring despite our looming retirement. My quick response shocked them. “No,” I said, without a hint of sadness or remorse. “But why?” Seriously, they were thrown.

For well more than a decade, I have happily (and some would add enthusiastically) served as a guide for those walking into what is inarguably the most unique community within the military—that of the foreign area officers. Regardless of service branch, I did my best to give back the energy that I gained from our life to those just starting out. Every single time, I ended my advice/talks/guidance with “I am so jealous of you, I wish it were us starting out again.”

Adept at being a cheerleader for family and friends, the role of mentor fit me like a glove. It became part of my identity. But as with all things, you have to know when it’s run the course. Finishing the response as to why, I simply told them, “You’ve got to know when to leave the party.”

Now, rather than being a mentor, I want to show the next generation what waits on the other side. What a life lived well and on your own terms can look like. As my friend Jane Bertch talks about so eloquently on her podcast, I am entering my role model phase.

After 30 years of belonging to the military machine and 20 years of wandering the world, I want to be the person that the next generation looks at and says, “I want to be like her.”

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Early morning.

I sit on our couch, sipping my coffee while looking out the window, and think, “What’s next?”

For decades the military has dictated the bigger aspects of my life. The moment I said “I do” to my husband and he added my name to his official paperwork, I gave up a good amount of my freedom. For me, raised a cowgirl, with all the self-determination that that heritage carries with it, well, sometimes it was a lot.

And while I did (for the most part) know what I was getting into, there was always the unexpected (seriously, I wrote an entire memoir about it.)

Every life has curveballs.

Consider a military spouse to be like a bird with clipped wings. Still a bird, still able to fly, yet unable to soar. Walking away from a career I’d crafted, from places I knew, from people I loved, I lived an amazing life as a military spouse, but it was lived under the auspices of the military. I lived at the pleasure of the mission. A freedom that comes with a lot of caveats.

But now the ties are being cut. I will be just another person, no longer part of the military. I am regaining some aspects of my life that I’ve had to forfeit for so long…and it’s very disconcerting, like I’ve lost my equilibrium and am trying to right myself.

So, what is next?

Some days I vibrate with energy.

Others I think, “I’m just so tired.”

As I said, the life I’ve lived, the one tied to the military, has been a lot. Last month, while preparing for my husband’s retirement ceremony, I told him that I was so exhausted that I felt like running away. I told him that we’ve done enough, now we can just disappear.

But that’s not us. That’s not me. That was just blowing off steam.

I look no further than my good friend, Neil, to know why I’ll keep going, why I’ll keep pushing the boundaries of what’s possible. Neil is a person that never lets life get him down. He has entrusted me to write his memoir, not only a professionally fulfilling process but also an inspirational one. Neil’s story in a nutshell is that, against insane odds, he survived his early life in Cambodia, escaped Pol Pot’s killing fields, then adapted to a country that has thrown him curveballs at every opportunity…and he just keeps going. And so, while I write his incredible story, I am constantly inspired to keep going, just like he does.

So, what is next for me? For my family?

Honestly, I don’t know. While I have a few things sorted out, as does my husband, I can’t claim to have an accurate answer to the question…which is the most frightening and beautiful thing I’ve experienced in a long time.

The great wide open. The possibilities are endless.

Ready to follow along? Buckle up.

Our happy family at the retirement ceremony, smiling into the unknown.