For a while, I seriously considered running for Congress. California, LA area. I had the drive, the background, and — if I'm being honest — the ego to think I could do something meaningful with a seat at that table.
I didn't run. And the reason isn't what most people would assume.
The Dream Was Real.
I'm a political junkie. Always have been. I follow legislation the way other people follow sports — obsessively, with strong opinions and a running commentary that my friends mostly tolerate. I believe in public service. I believe that government, when it actually functions, can do extraordinary things for ordinary people.
I believe that the people making decisions in Congress should look more like the people they represent. And I looked at the LA congressional landscape and thought: I could do this. I should do this.
I wasn't wrong about wanting to serve. I was just clear-eyed about what serving actually looks like right now.
Then I Looked at the Room.
Here's what stopped me — and I want to be precise about this because it matters.
I couldn't in good conscience walk into Congress and try to legislate while the other side of the aisle is operating in a different reality. Not a different set of values — a different set of facts. I'd be sitting across from people who have spent years parroting things that aren't true, blocking every bill that doesn't benefit their donor class, and calling that governance.
Speaker Johnson. The MAGA caucus. A Republican Party that has made obstruction its entire personality. These are people who will kill a good bill — a bill that helps working families, veterans, small businesses, anyone who isn't already wealthy and connected — not because they disagree with its merits, but because passing it might make a Democrat look effective.
the number of times I've seen MAGA leadership support a bill because it was simply the right thing to do.
And I had to ask myself honestly: can I spend years of my life in that environment, fighting for things I believe in, watching them get killed in committee or filibustered into oblivion — and not lose my mind? Not compromise who I am just to survive the machine?
Futility Isn't Cowardice. It's Math.
I want to push back on something before anyone says it: deciding not to run wasn't giving up. It wasn't fear. It was a calculation about where my energy actually creates change.
Because here's the thing — Congress isn't the only place to matter. It's not even the most efficient place to matter, especially right now, especially in this climate. The people who are actually moving the needle on issues I care about are often doing it outside of Washington. In communities. In organizations. In businesses that are built around values instead of quarterly earnings or election cycles.
Maybe that calculation changes. Maybe the political climate shifts in a way that makes the fight inside Congress feel winnable again. Maybe I revisit this.
I still want to serve. I just refuse to perform service in a system that's been rigged to make service impossible.
So What Now.
I'm still paying attention. Still furious. Still a Democrat who believes that government can and should work for people — all people, not just the ones who can afford a lobbyist.
I write about it now instead of legislating it. Maybe that's the right move for this moment. Maybe it reaches someone. Maybe it's just me shouting into the void.
Either way, I'm not shutting up. Ask anyone who knows me — that's never been an option.