A Discipline of Seeing, Part 3

Observation: You can’t do it alone.

If this year has taught me anything, it’s that no one is an island. Choosing to start a massive career and life transition in the middle of a global pandemic made that fact crystal clear. If you’re pursuing something new or challenging, it’s better to do it with other people. No matter what “it” is, it’s bound to be easier with a team/support group/cohort/social and emotional liferaft. I tried the solo-swimming approach… I found myself barely treading water.

It’s natural for me to search inward for that type of support. I’m a classic type-A introvert -- intrinsic motivation is my most treasured strength. That approach failed me this year. I’m not used to failure. Especially not with something as deceptively simple as being nice and supportive to myself. Talk about a major hit to the ol’ ego.

There was no single event. It’s the culmination of a crazy year and a crazy decision all wrapped up in a portfolio of performance anxiety. There’s pressure to perform at work as one of their more reliable, driven, and effective Officers. There’s pressure to figure out what the rest of my life should look like. There’s pressure to triangulate towards a new career path. There’s pressure to build a good resume, interview skills, and professional network. There’s pressure to complete an alphabet soup of professional certs. There’s pressure to create my own personal brand. There’s pressure to support my wife in her transition. There’s pressure to have a plan. There’s pressure to execute that plan. There’s pressure to keep all those plates spinning without a wobble... 

The past year has been a slow-burn culminating in what my wife calls “Mr. Grumpy.” But what my wife and colleagues perceive as a general sullenness is in reality a thinly veiled bout of persistent anxiety.

Why? Because until recently, I was still under the impression that this transition is something you can win. As a type-A introvert, I was trying to win it by myself for myself.

Here’s the truth: the military to civilian transition is a process, not a new shiny achievement badge. And it’s a process that works best when shared.

These past few weeks, I’ve made a conscious effort to share my burdens and discuss the journey, not the end-state or the goal. In doing so, I’ve realized that the end-state and the goal are entirely unknowable. Ineffable. What is knowable is the process -- identifying what I need in order to feel confident, excited, and prepared for civilian life. Focusing so rigidly on winning the end-state without any real metric for success made me anxious. As my frustration with the Navy boiled, it bred disillusionment and cynicism. Such things are total paralysis. Spinning plates, meet the cold hard ground.

I don’t know where I’m going nor what I really want to do, but I do know what I need. I need more people to share in this adventure. I need a team. And I’m going to build one.