Some days I missed the rig.

I missed the sunrise over the Gulf, the odd friendships that form between people who work through rough weather, and the deep satisfaction of fixing a mechanical problem with a crew that knows what it’s doing.

I missed the money, too.

Our budget had turned into rows of tight columns and careful choices.

The refinery paid enough, but not enough to pretend the mortgage mess had never happened.

I sold the second fishing boat we had hardly ever used.