Driving through Beverly Hills yesterday, a large metal sculpture on the median strip caught my eye. From several blocks away, it looked to be a perfect red circle mounted against a white backdrop.
The power went out in my neighborhood yesterday. It was three-thirty in the afternoon when a transformer blew. Everything came to a halt. No light, no internet, no air conditioning, no microwave, no TV, no hot water for the shower, no landline.
Imagine. It’s July 4, 1776. You live in Philadelphia. You’re twenty-five. You hang with Betsy Ross, who is 24, Alex Hamilton, 21 and Tom Jefferson, 33. It’s an exciting time, it’s a wild ride. You have a vision for a new form of government. Like Abe would later say—of the people, by the people and for the people.
It takes courage to run for Congress—especially now. You couldn’t pay me to do it. But I’m on the team that is lifting people of character onto a bigger stage. I’m part of the village that is raising the bar. I’m discovering that courage can be contagious.
I arrived in Washington, D.C., a bit battered and broken. The daily news twisting itself around my heart, making it hard to breathe.