The trouble with the Royal Navy is that it must be the sole focus and all-encompassing fact of one's existence.

Admittedly, in the past this didn't bother me. As a fresh-faced, awe-struck midshipman I relished the assumptions foisted upon me by non-sailors: that I was strong and brave; decisive and forthright; bold and adventurous. I revelled in such caricatures even as I despaired over my struggles in living up to them.

Over time, as is natural in any military career, I found myself ever more frequently trusting to my subconscious. It is amazing how in times of stress a well trained body responds automatically to stimuli. A man's mind may be unsure as to which course of action to take, but his vocal chords are already issuing orders nineteen to the dozen. In the heat of battle, amidst the roar of broadsides, one knows that at the heart of one's commands lies the desire to keep the crew safe, alive to fight another day; and to do one's duty by one's commission to the utmost of one's ability. In this instance, I am grateful that I am no more and no less than Commodore.

I am also James: plain and unadorned, though still trustworthy, diligent, intelligent and dutiful. With time, James might accrue as much respect —or possibly even more respect—as Commodore; yet as he I would always lack the authority to command that instantaneous obedience necessary in warfare.

Yet still I yearn to be just James. To someone; or somewhere; in one fractional segment of my life, I long to be both less and more than the brocade I wear, for I know that I am more than capable of it.

As I doodle these thoughts on paper which shall be destroyed the instant my musings have ceased their incessant meandering, my mind twists itself inexplicably to a pair of dancing, laughing hands; a sinuous figure moving with a prancing, drunken gait; a pair of sober, soulful, hazelnut eyes. I can almost hear the distracting jingle of trinkets scattered through his hair.

My hand stutters as I realise the pathetic truths revealed by my wandering observations, skittering spidery script across this page—unblemished and blameless but a few moments before, now it lies stained with desires that should have remained as dark and hidden as the source of ink with which I write. Unwilling to explore for the moment the full implications of such a turn in thought association, I contemplate instead the man who has invaded my mind as seemingly effortlessly as he stole my ship. Where and how did he slip past my defences?

Looking back over what I have written, I find I am able to place my finger on the exact spot: "James".

Just as I am always "Commodore", never "James", he is simply "Jack Sparrow". Consistently insistent upon his title—"Captain"—as Commodore I am forced to ignore his pleas for recognition whilst inwardly I envy the freedoms granted him by his socially unacceptable career and title. Were I a simple sailor I could, amongst colleagues, openly admire his seamanship and the undoubted talents by which he has gained command and authority. As the personification of His Britannic Majesty's naval power, however, were I to acknowledge his skills and grant him the courtesy of correct address, it could be interpreted as my approval of his lawlessness. I might even risk a charge of collusion with an enemy of the Crown. That is the trouble with the Royal Navy: one is a naval officer, or one is not. One may not put aside one's duty for even a moment. It is not a job, nor even a career; it is a life. A life I chose before I was old enough to know what I was choosing; before I was aware of the attractions of alternative pathways; a life I will not leave, no matter how great the temptation. I am Commodore Norrington: to attempt so profound a change would be to deny all else I have accomplished thus far in my life. Instead I comfort myself with the thought that in opposition there is harmony, in identity duality, and in the heart of a brigand's soul may lie honesty, truth and understanding.

We are each defined by our position, and with that comes certain obligations.

________________
Read the sequel, Dress Code.