Dear Simon

I write this sat in the soft dappled light of August’s last sigh, beneath the heavily fruited apple tree in our garden.

We have spent the last 40 days of shore leave firstly decompressing from the sudden shock of having time, and an unhurried mind; then relaxing into a different world, with family and friends… and sunshine… and cycling… and cider.

We march to a strange annual beat: all 60 hour weeks for 11 months, and then six weeks of nothing.

Since leaving our ship initially our mind was constantly drawn back to the worries and dramas and problems and commitments contained within it. But as time has passed these thoughts have quietened, leaving just the person stood currently on the shore who (according to Julie) is a different person than the one who stands on deck for the other 11 months of the year.

Others on another day can debate the wisdom of this ‘all and nothing’ annual calendar.

But now, from this vantage point, I can see the ships at anchor in the bay and know that soon we must return. In the coming days we will survey the work completed by those who stayed on board to renovate and restock. We will check that all is squared away.

On Friday we will brief the crew on the year’s voyage that stands before us.

On Monday we will put away our shorts and flip-flops, don our uniform, stand on deck, and order the ship to set sail.

Within a week the land that I write this letter from will be a distant speck.

Within a month, all we will see is ocean and we will no longer remember sitting under a summer sun at all. We will be consumed by the excitement, the dramas, the challenges and the problems on board ship.

So as we prepare to sail away, I write you this letter from what will soon be a distant shore, to remind you of what you leave behind…

Know that we do a worthwhile job.

We have the honour to lead our communities and inspire the trust of our crew. It is a job which we have done for many years, a job we love and (hopefully) are known for doing well. So when the storms howl and the ship is tossed on the waves by forces around us, remember that this is just the background noise of a public-facing role.

Be clear in articulating the destination. And keep telling stories about arriving upon distant shores.

Whilst stories of the journey’s purpose come easy upon embarkation, it is just as important to re-tell these stories in the eye of the storm, many miles from land. Constantly remind the crew and community where they are going and why they must go there. Otherwise, we will all be blown off course.

Walk the deck. Especially when there is a storm brewing.

There will be a hundred demands upon our time once the voyage is underway. They will all seem critically important and we will have plenty telling us that their urgency should be our urgency. However, remember to walk the deck every day. Check in with our crew, ask about their loved ones back on shore. The crew needs us to see them as people and not just their role.

Remember that you don’t sail this ship alone.

Whilst we may be ultimately accountable, we are not alone. We are surrounded by able and willing captains who, in many respects, can sail parts of the ship better than we can.

Let them, at times, chart their own course through the hostile ocean towards the agreed destination. Support them. Encourage them. And show them that you have complete confidence in their navigation… especially when their course sets the ship upon stormy waters.

Don’t assume that rank is the sole arbiter of wisdom. Give voice to all members of the crew.

Look for ships to sail along side you. Whilst their voyage may be slightly different to your own, their company and wisdom will be beneficial.

Remember to take some time away from the helm.

We do not need to be the captain on deck 24/7. Much as it feels heroic to by the one person always available to the ship and crew, exhausted leaders make poor leaders. When we are not scheduled to be on deck, and are at home: be truly at home, not at home in body only.

Don’t feed stress with junk.

Far from land, when the storms are howling, the temptation will be to find solace in the staffroom biscuit tin. Or the numerous cakes which crew members so generously provide. Don’t use these as a proxy for proper food or proper rest. They’ll make you feel great for a minute, but they don’t really nourish the body in the way which is needed for a long voyage.

But ensure that cake is always available!

Never forget the restorative effect that a bag of donuts has on the crew.

Exercise. But accept the rhythms of the voyage

We both know that exercise will happen no matter what else is going on. It’s our long established habit. But not every week needs to be hard. Sometimes rest and recovery are the best exercise.

Read.

Time spent learning about the voyage upon which we have embarked is not wasted time. Spend time learning about the route to your destination throughout the voyage, not just when on shore.

Remember the people on the shore.

Remember that as well as the crew and community on board that depend upon you at sea, you have those in your own family who depend upon you on shore. These are the people who matter.

We get to choose how much of our free time we live on the shore with our families, and how much time our minds are out at sea with the ship and crew. Don’t allow the pursuit of a far-off destination to separate you from those back on land to whom you mean the most.

Remember the man on the shore.

Remember the man sat in the garden under dappled sunlight.

Don’t lose us in the voyage that lies ahead.

Laugh, see friends, find glimmers of this summer’s shore every day – it will be a long time until you and I once again sit under an apple tree in August.

Try to live every day under that same tree.

And good luck.