Texts from the Governor

I was at home on the range with in-real-life cowboys. I was finally getting to witness the ritualistic charm of a cattle branding day. I was peaking behind the heralded, dusty curtain of ranch life. I wore an embroidered western shirt with pearlescent buttons.

My eyes were big, costume adorned, as I hungrily absorbed every detail. My face was soon covered in dust, hands rusty with the residue of branding irons, and heart a little sick from witnessing the cow's pain.

Amidst all the action, my phone drifted into my Floridian Father's breast pocket and he told me I missed a phone call. I texted the number back right away.

When I looked down to read the response, I was overwhelmed. I fell to my knees, crumbled under the weight, of the "no way". The twisting, circling mania of having the chance to live exactly the way I dreamed. I had thought so loudly about the opportunity to host our chief executive and here it was actually happening by happenstance? I could hardly believe it.

My favorite term used to describe emotional overwhelm is verklempt. From Yiddish farklempt, from German verklemmt, meaning literally ‘pinched, squeezed’.

I felt squeezed between the literal beauty of where I was standing, and with whom, and the figurative beauty of introducing the Governor of Colorado to my precious hamlet and rural art project.

Two ideas, two places, that I have had the privilege to love and dedicate my efforts.

My Dad remarked that the Governor must have known he was in town. My friends hugged and celebrated me. And many others came to my aid to dust, organize, and spruce things up in the store.

What an opportunity to throw open the doors of our little world for a whirlwind tour. We readied ourselves with the highlight reel.

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For me, this was a unique confluence of the personal and the political. After having spent more than a few years of my life wrangling voters and politicians alike, and blathering endlessly about obscure public policy, this was a dipped toe into a nostalgic yesterday. A yesterday, that when it was the present, I wondered about it as a tomorrow. Where will all this youth and energy and optimism and idealism go after this is over? Who will stay in this world, who will go public sector, private sector, or move to the woods to never be heard from again? What ripples would we create? What waves would we make in other venues?

I was humbled to have this opportunity to showcase my tomorrow venue, my post-politics life, the little world I built around my passion for people and their stories.

I imagine, from my limited experience, that holding public office and operating a public business can present some similar personal difficulties. This work can at times be a torrent of unsolicited criticism and expectations. And don't forget, crippling self doubt.

We say the wrong thing, we upset the wrong people, we spend time trying to forgive ourselves for honest mistakes. Then we get up the next day and do it all over again.

But one mustn't forget that doing anything worth doing in this life invites the peanut gallery. The bad reviews. The op-eds. The betrayal. The confusing hurt feelings. The deep vulnerability.

And yet? Might we own our decisions to put ourselves "out there", and gracefully accept the inevitable shitstorm.

It bears repeating, that doing anything in life worth doing invites pain, confusion, overwhelm. And yet? It also invites extraordinary joy, purpose, and fulfillment.

This little moment felt like a distillation of the paths I have walked and along which, did my best to pluck the thistle and plant the flowers, but only where I thought they would grow.

As soon as I arrived in Del Norte, I could smell the soil in which my flowers might be able to grow. And every day since I have been so grateful to have dug my hands into the dirt and started tilling.

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About a week after the fanfare of THE GOVERNOR'S VISIT died down, I was walking home from our farmer’s market when I opened a text from the Governor, holding a Polaroid picture that we had taken together before he said goodbye. He wrote that he was thrilled I was in Colorado. Gulp.

Yet again, I looked down at my phone and literally screamed at a text message. Then I ran back to the farmer's market and showed all my friends.

At the end of the day, we are all just humans doing the best we can, agitating for a better world. One cattle ranch, one art project, one bill and business at a time.

And along our path, we never know what joy we are bringing to people's lives. What ways we bless those around us.

I reckon Mr. Polis has no idea how much he brightened this girl's world when he visited her home and applauded her creation.

Because I had so very much to say, of course I never texted him back. What was I going to say, besides, everything???

I thought very loudly about how nice it was to hear from him and hoped he would hear.

I wanted to tell him about the beauty of this town and how there is a magic here that shocks me daily. I wanted to tell him that I hope he comes back soon so we can talk more about the future of rural communities and the unique growth of this wildly beautiful state. I wanted to thank him for the immense blessing it was to host him in our town. I wanted to tell him that I have really been struggling lately and his visit was a bright light over some dark days. I wanted him to feel my joy and excitement and gratitude.

I also wanted to make a joke about how not texting powerful men back is a power move. But I kept the cheekiness to myself (however difficult) and I wrote this essay instead.

So thank you, Governor.

Thank you for stopping in our pass-through town. For showing up. For giving her hell. For plucking thistle and planting flowers where you believe they will grow.

Del Norte is fertile ground and I have been so privileged to be around to witness all the beauty that is growing in and around her. I'm so glad you had the chance to see it, too.

Until next time!

Your friend,