More specifically: white, middle class people, from outside urban areas…and especially those that consider themselves Republicans or conservatives.

Because what happened with black men getting shot recently in Louisiana and Minnesota is not ok.

The subsequent violence against police officers — especially the horrific murders in Dallas — is equally not ok.

Here’s the problem: lots of people like me, middle class, white, not-urban…and conservative…had comparatively little to say about what happened to Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, but much more to say when innocent cops started dying in Dallas .

That has to change.

Both were terribly wrong. Scenes like people lining up to hug cops in Dallas are a sign there is hope. But, real hope won’t come from hugs. It will come when white people who have heretofore been silent about such issues start speaking up to demand change.

Newt Gingrich was right (yes, I said that…and may not say it again for quite a while) in his Facebook Live chat with Van Jones. Most white people don’t understand what it’s like to grow up black. Especially grow up a black male.

We middle class whites have many reasons to not identify or empathize with the black experience. We, especially outside the South or major urban areas, didn’t grow up exposed to black communities, including the experience with economic want that pervades too many black families. Our opportunity at a high quality education is often dramatically different. And we didn’t experience the direct and indirect racism they’ve encountered throughout their lives, often on the daily.

A perfect example of that difference in experience: Ron Sims tale of  living and driving in Seattle while black. Ron is a former King County Councilman, King County Executive, and Deputy Secretary of the Department of Housing and Urban Development. He’s an upstanding, leading citizen in our society. Ron’s been stopped by police eight times in Seattle, with the consistent theme that he’s guilty of driving while black. There is no other conclusion when he is never cited but always asked where he’s going and does he live in the neighborhood.

Not. Acceptable.

Ron’s tale via words on Facebook is helpful, but it is the combination of video and social media that will likely truly change our understanding. Conservative political pundit Matt Lewis nailed it in describing how social media and video has transformed how we understand and think about this issue, by increasing access to images we wouldn’t otherwise experience in our lives, and images that dramatically expand our understanding of the issue.

Newt said many whites “instinctively under-estimate the level of discrimination” black people face in America. Lewis says why the under-estimation is starting to change. Correct. Because watching Alton Sterling and Philando Castile bleed out on video doesn’t leave you a lot of options if you’re intellectually honest about the horror unfolding.

I stand guilty as charged throughout much of my life of that critique of middle class whites. I’m white, grew up in an upper-middle class home in a suburb of Seattle, and went to private high school as well as a highly selective liberal arts college back East. I’m also a Republican — though far, far from the stereotype (and virulently anti-Trump) — who has worked for Republican elected officials and knows many conservatives because of my past professional life and political experience. For years, I consistently underestimated the discrimination black people experience.

What changed for me on this issue? Increased exposure to video of police misbehavior is a contributing factor. So to was a recent diversity & inclusion training I took that led me to re-think a number of my assumptions and beliefs. And I think moving to New Orleans soon plays a big role too.

I went to college in Virginia and have traveled through parts of the South. I’m a history and political science major who knows quite well our national past on the issue of race. I know things are different from the Pacific Northwest I grew up in (above and beyond Ron’s troubling experience in Seattle). But visiting New Orleans several times in advance of our final move gave me a new and deeper perspective on race issues.

New Orleans is in the Deep South. For all the welcoming and funky vibe of the Big Easy, racial tension is palpable. I’ve observed it in white people. I’ve observed  it in black people. I’ve been on the receiving end of it when it was loudly and visibly clear my white family wasn’t welcome where we were at in one neighborhood (conversely, we feel delightfully welcome in the predominantly black neighborhood we choose as our home).

Talking with others from New Orleans about that topic and thinking about it further led me to the same conclusion as Newt Gingrich. I have in the past “instinctively under-estimated” the discrimination black people have experienced, especially when that experience spans generations of white-black racial tension that is embedded into some communities.

At the same time, I have friends and others I know, love, and respect who are currently or formerly in law enforcement. I trust and respect them for all the reasons the police are traditionally respected in our country. They’re good people, risking their safety to serve our communities.

Yet for all the good cops out there, there are also bad and indifferent ones too. And those bad or indifferent cops need to  be held accountable, learn some empathy and compassion, or find new employment.

What can white people do about all this? Demand that empathy and accountability from law enforcement and the elected officials who oversee them.  We should want more of this cop who brought food to a woman caught stealing eggs to feed her kids and less of incidents like this past week that spark further violence and rage.

The officers responsible for those murders in Minnesota and Louisiana need to be held accountable. They could also learn some basic empathy. You know what was missing from each situation after shots were fired? Any serious attempt to treat the now disabled “suspect” who is bleeding to death in front of them. What the actual fuck is that?

One gets the impression from such videos that cops are taught empathy at the police academy about as much as doctors are taught in medical school about how to have a serious conversation — rather than just prescribing some pills — with a patient whose diabetes and heart disease is a result of their grossly unhealthy lifestyle. Meaning: precious little.

That has to change. We can’t really on the empathy police cadets enter the academy with, because humanity is too imperfect.

Where does that change start? I wish I knew exactly, but for all of us it probably starts by showing a little more compassion, a little more love, a little more empathy, a little more effort to think about what the shoe is like on the other foot.

Beyond that, when the opportunity comes, it’s on us to speak up for police accountability and empathy. By us, I mean middle class whites, especially conservatives. We’re the critical mass that can have an impact on this issue. Liberals and other activists have already been having their say, with modest effect on some of these topics . We don’t need to have the exact same policy goals at this point. Just a shared commitment to a decent society with a little bit of compassion. It’s gotten that fucking basic right now.

It’s time.

The Chugach Mountains rise out of the forest surrounding Anchorage.

“Beautiful” is probably not what comes to mind when you think of our singular national event this year: the Presidential election.

The phenomena known as the candidacy of Donald Trump is anything but beautiful. Perhaps intriguing in its defiance of the known laws of politics…basic decency, the remotest sense of competence, coherent intellectual thought, etc. But, definitely not beautiful.

And if there was no Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton would be Donald Trump, the major party candidate with astronomically high negative ratings. No beauty there either.

I’ll tell you what’s beautiful about America. The diverse, majesty of our country is beautiful. Something neither the madness of Donald Trump nor the deplorableness of Hillary Clinton can take from us.

I’m on a plane from Anchorage to Seattle as I typed most of this, completing a turn and burn trip for work. Meanwhile, I’ve been travelling to New Orleans in preparation for my move there. I’m getting a fascinating view of our nation. And if there are two more different parts of country than Louisiana and Alaska I’m open to offers, but you’ll have trouble making the sale.

There’s something you should know about Alaska: it’s big. Gigantic. Huge. This geography geek’s visual proves the point. When you say your state is big, Alaska laughs, pats you on the head, and says “bless your heart.”

Even a simple trip to Anchorage proves the point. Look out the window of the plane riding over the coast of southeast Alaska on the way north and you can’t miss it. Mountain after glorious mountain. And I mean mountains.  Not what passes for mountains east of the Rockies.

Mountains. Covered with snow and glaciers throughout the year. Majestic. One after the other. Row upon row. Rising towers of rock above the earth. Like something out of Lord of the Rings (Tolkien geeks: think of the scene in the Return of the King when the beacons of Gondor are lit to summon aid from Rohan).

Everything is bigger in Alaska. Even the mudflats where sea meets land can range for hundreds of yards, with their own network of rivers and channels. And the forests. Green upon green, for as far as the eye can see. Covering the landscape, including huge islands where no human treads, no road roams. Where miles of pristine beach stretch untouched, for lack of humans to reach them.

A view out a building of even modest height in Anchorage shows all these things. The ocean. Mudflats. A sea of trees. The glorious mountains of the Chugach, in near inconceivable proximity to a major US city. Hovering over life on the edge of the world.

And the edge of the world it is. Even as there is much further north to travel from Anchorage to the reaches of Alaska, far to the coasts of the Bering Sea, the desolate North Slope, and the deep isolation of the soaring mountains, endless forests, and sprawling tundra of the Bush. Even in Anchorage, you know you’re far from the rest of the country.  On this last trip to Alaska of several I have taken for work I noticed for the first time: a Blockbuster Video is still in business.

Even a short distance from Anchorage by car can show you the edge of the world, such as the majestic Turnagain Arm, a fjord-like intrusion of water into the heart of mountains that spring from the sea. Mountains that when you ascend near the top to view the world your heart will nearly crack with wonder at the glory of this creation in which we abide.

What I’m describing is not the United States many of us know. It’s unique. Different. And so very, far away.

In Anchorage you know you’re far from everything else. Over 3 hours by plane, sharply northwest from Seattle, itself in the far northwest of the Continental US. Anchorage is a modern city in one of our United States. Yet, it is an outpost. The urban hub in a place where the state capitol (Juneau) has no paved road leading in and out because of its geographic isolation. Home to industries of oil and natural gas as well as the harvesting of sea life, where people live by extracting natural resources for the care and feeding of the distant, congregated masses of the nation.

Life in Alaska is hard. You can see it in the people. They look the part. Rugged. Weather-worn. Tougher than many of us care to know or understand.

People assembled to perform that extraction at the hard edges of the world. People living in conditions most of couldn’t tolerate year around. Extreme weather. Extreme daylight and darkness. Extreme isolation.

The buildings in Anchorage tell you life is hard. The country is beautiful. The buildings of the city are not. Many are downright ugly by many standards. They’re not built to be pretty. They’re built to protect you from the weather and to allow you to do what you need to do indoors.

In strong contrast, the buildings of New Orleans are endlessly beautiful. Not in a brand new construction, everything is in splendidly perfect order beautiful. In bright, bold colors with indescribable historic charm and glory that delights just as much as the raw physical beauty of Alaska. It is the oldness of the soul, nestled in the Deep South, as Alaska is to the newness of the soul we explore the ends of our world.

In New Orleans, there is a magic, woven into the layers of the historic, beating heart of the city. To be in the Big Easy is to understand this. To understand the lovely compilation of the old South and the rest of our nation. And when you find it, it will call to you. Call you to a place where there is always a party. A parade. Costumes. Beads. Always something to celebrate in this thing we call life in a community that will offer you a friendly embrace because that’s who they are.

You will find nothing of the sort in Anchorage. No such never-ending party. No such colorful joy. But, you may well find something else  in Alaska: a bold, majestic natural beauty that may speak to your soul and call you deeper into its reaches.

This is the dichotomy, and beauty of our nation. From Anchorage to New Orleans, and everything in between. We’re Americans.

From the wonderfully friendly and fit people of Utah as I passed through Salt Lake City to the pleasant, amiable – if chubby – people of the Midwest as I passed through St. Louis, I’ve seen other pieces of the puzzle of our nation as I’ve travelled in recent weeks.

We are a glorious, diverse lot. We live in a beautiful country.

A country with a system of government delightfully (and mercifully in light of this year!) designed to de-centralize power. A President Trump or a President Clinton is not likely to be pleasant.

But, there is only so much they can do.

While our national visit from the fuck-up fairy seems rather severe right now (and indeed it is!), Trump or Clinton have to deal with Congress and the Courts whom our Founding Fathers intentionally desi1gned to thwart the designs of power-hungry leaders. Thank you Madison, Hamiltion, et. al.!

Even as we inevitably put that separation of powers to the test, we can also take comfort in knowing the ugliness of our politics will not permanently harm the beauty of our nation and its people. From the natural glory of Alaska to the eclectic assemblage of humanity in New Orleans. There’s nothing a horrific and lamentable Presidential election can do to change that.

Thank God.

Sometimes you have to draw a line in the sand and hold to it. The consequences may become unpleasant, muddy, and at times painful. So be it. Holding to principle and respecting your own integrity may require it.

Donald Trump is just such a line.

My thoughts on the Donald are already in writing. Put more succinctly: no fucking way.

I’m a Reublican who will never vote for Donald Trump; #NeverTrump to the end, and proudly so.

My previous post on the topic provides the case for those interested in rehashing the many reasons to oppose the short-fingered vulgarian. The animating reason remains this: he is wholly unfit to occupy the Oval Office.

I worked for a Republican US Senator and a Republican President, in sum for nearly 10 years. Almost a quarter of my life.

I worked for them because I believed. Not that they were perfect, they weren’t. But for whatever faults the public perceived, they were honorable men. Men of intellect. Men of principle. Men of dignity.

Donald Trump is none of those things.

Man or woman, of any political affiliation,those attributes should be a basic requirement to serve as President  of the United States.

I will neither vote for Hillary Clinton. While not the same threat to the Republic as Trump, her flaws are also too many. I’ll vote 3rd party or pass on over the race for President when voting.

Why? Especially when it comes to the Donald, I can’t look my kids in the eye and say “yes, you might not agree with the President but respect them and their team. They serve our country.” I worked for George W. Bush. And I respect President Obama and his team for their service, politics aside.

Not with the Donald. Not with his ego-uber alles approach to life.  Not with his clown show of thugs, sycophants, and the grammatically inept around him.

Let us respect instead the people in Congress and the Courts who will serve as a necessary check against the excesses of a Trump Administration. A Clinton Administration reprise would likely be only a milder, less tabloid headline-rich version of the same.

And for God’s sake, let’s do better in 2020. Republican and Democrat alike.

So, I own a house in New Orleans now. This is getting real.

Lots I could say about this part of our adventure, but I’ll focus on a  few key things:

• Moving out-of-state isn’t easy, but totally manageable if you go with the flow. A lot of things didn’t go as exactly as planned in our whirlwind of buying a house and getting it set-up to rent on Airbnb until we move south for good this summer. Check out links here and here for more on this adventurous part of our tale. The process is definitely more fun if you accept what the universe is offering rather than insisting on your plan being the only way to get there. I’ve tried the latter approach before and don’t recommend it!

• All the little things point to something that was meant to be. The link above about how crazy day of “oops-we’re-not-buying-this-house-let’s-buy-this-one-instead” has a lot of that. We ended up with a better home because of it. Here’s a couple more examples of how this was meant to be:
  • Everything has come together with the myriad appointments at the house we’ve had to have in handful of days between getting our keys at leaving town: cable, gas, alarm, housekeeper (for Airbnb turnover), handyman for some additional repairs we wanted done, etc. All not easy to coordinate, let alone in a way that didn’t have us trapped at the house waiting for people, but the pieces of the puzzle came together because we let things happen, and didn’t freak out when something went awry.
  • Many of my books we brought to help decorate the house are so inadvertently fitting of what we’re doing in New Orleans. There are copious books on Civil War history…because it’s in the South! There are books on our Founding Fathers…who bought Louisiana! There are books on the Napoleonic era…because New Orleans has deep French roots (to the point there are streets named after famous French victories in the Napoloenic era, such as Marengo, Jena, and Austerlitz). These are all areas of history I have loved through the years. They all happen to fit perfectly in New Orleans. Coincidence? Probably not.

• Then there is our real estate agent. Yes, our real estate agent, Karon Reese. I grew up in a home where the residential real estate business was my parents’ primary income. I can tell the BS artists from the real McCoy. And my God, is our agent legit.
  • We found her on a seemingly random referral from the owner of a yoga studio where we took a class on an earlier trip to NOLA. The studio is in a splendid, old walk-up apartment converted into a combined yoga studio & living space. The owner is Karon’s daughter. Karon helped her find that space, and obviously came highly recommended. There are indeed no coincidences, because Karon helped guide us through every step of our home-buying roller coaster (including details I haven’t taken the time to list on the blog). It wouldn’t have all worked out, especially on the timing we needed, without her…and with way more work than she could have been reasonably expected to do for a rather modest home purchase.
  • Here’s the deal: for all that, I love her for more he genuine authenticity in welcoming us to New Orleans than anything else. There’s “thanks for being my client” and there’s “I’m thrilled you’re joining our community!” The latter is what we got from Karon, to the point I kinda teared up when I read the card that accompanied her gift to us when we closed on the house, and why we now consider her a friend.
  • Karon’s also a symbol of the genuine warmth with which we’ve been greeted in New Orleans. Yep, the weird, hippie Seattleites already feel at home in NOLA because people are so friendly and welcoming.

• Here’s the biggest thing I noticed: we come alive in New Orleans. A co-worker and Facebook friend commented on a photo I posted from New Orleans noting how “alive” I look. Then there was this Facebook post from my bride:
  

  Up at 4 am, sitting on my porch listening to the thunder after a Deep, quality, dreamless sleep. The sleep that’s eluded me most of my life.

  My feet are filthy from stomping around in my backyard barefoot. I found some old cinder blocks back there, and decided to paint them and build a bookshelf out of them.

  I forgot to put on a bra or change my clothes yesterday.

  I couldn’t find a picture I liked for my bedroom, so I painted one.

  I’ve barely been on social media. I’ve been cooking. I’ve been cleaning, creating, decorating. Living.

  My brain works differently down here. It works better. Way better.

  I’m awake.

  I’m home. 

Yes, this has been an interesting adventure. And that’s cool. But, our move is about something different.

People ask why we’re moving to New Orleans when they hear they news.

The answer is that post from my wife.

That’s why.

Because finding the place you can be alive and be the person/people you were meant to be is so very worth it.

I realized on this trip to the Big Easy, after reflecting on being there and my time at school in Virginia that I’m meant to be in the South. It’s where I feel most comfortable. I’m still not normal. I still don’t fit a stereotype, but it’s where I belong.

That’s why we couldn’t be more happy with both the home and the community that is waiting for us in New Orleans now.

While buying and setting-up a house in New Orleans this week, something has been on my mind.

A fellow who swam at my alma mater passed away recently. He graduated in the spring of ’93, with a cohort of fellows who were the stuff of legend among the upper class Mary Washington College Eagles I joined my freshman year in Fredericksburg, VA the fall of the same year. His name was Josh Lontz. I met him though never had cause to know him well.

Yet, the emotion I’ve seen upon his passing from my fellow Eagles on a Facebook group for Mary Washington swim alums struck me. Our college days were from the pre-cell phone era, so old photos are now being posted in the group to commemorate Josh. The posts are emotional, amplified for me by the photos being from the pool deck and other scenes around Mary Washington and its swim team that I know and love.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on why this was all sticking with me. Then this morning, one of that cohort of fellows, Adam Owings, posted the below text on Facebook as a tribute to his friend Josh and some thoughts on why swimming still matters to him.

Many of themes will be familiar if you’ve been reading this blog. The power of being part of things you love. The fact there are no coincidences. The ability of a higher power in the universe to deliver, often at just the right time (and especially when you let it happen!). The powerful, formative, and emotional impact of being part of a team you love.

What Adam wrote resonated so much with me I asked if I could share it more broadly. He said yes. Here are Adam’s beautiful words:

Some things happened this week to remind me how much swimming has meant to me, and how much it still does.

It started with somber news: a college teammate and friend, Josh Lontz, died last Tuesday after a long battle with brain cancer.

At 6’8″, Josh stuck out in just about any crowd. And his height wasn’t the only reason: he was one of the most affable people I’ve ever known – in or out of the pool; an extroverted introvert. A gentle giant with a kind heart, open ear, and ready hand. I don’t know that I ever heard Josh speak an unkind word about anyone, and I don’t think I ever heard him curse.

He was as tall as he was goofy, and insisted there was one sure-fire way to make any movie better: more explosions.

He lived in Atlanta, with his wife, Alison. Josh was an urban planner and helped design the town (the town, people!) of Sandy Springs. I always thought that was so cool.

I wasn’t as connected with Josh during his last few years as I wish I’d been. He was never far in my thoughts. He was a good man. I should have told him.

I was thinking about Josh during my Saturday morning swim. How it’d be great to joke with him on the wall again between sets. The universe seemed to hear me. The guy in the next lane at Claude Moore asked if I was swimming Colonies Zone Masters this weekend at George Mason. (I’m not; it’s the third year in a row I’ve wanted to, but missed it due to family or personal obligations.)

We started talking. Turns out Bob swam at U.T. Austin in the 70s. We’d both gotten back into the pool following long hiatuses. He’d been a breaststroker and IM’er, like me. His team’s sports psychologist was Dr. Keith Bell; my coach and team used Dr. Bell’s swimming-specific psychology book, “Winning Isn’t Normal,” to turn off our brains and let our bodies do what we’d trained them to do: swim fast.

Bob and I agreed there was nothing quite like the contented exhaustion (and lingering smell of chlorine) that follows a good swim.

Like me, some of Bob’s closest friends today are his college teammates. And we talked about the remarkable positive influence the sport – and swimmers – can have, from childhood on. The first person I met when I moved to Pennsylvania in 1985 as a shameless-sack-of-bones teen was a kid on the swim team. Three decades later, we’re still friends.

I was flabbergasted by my connections and commonalities with Bob, nearly overwhelmed in the moment by a flood of emotions. The universe is a funny place. I kept swimming.

Friendship, camaraderie, and coincidence swam through my head during my daughters’ Saturday afternoon swim meet. While I would love for my kids to love swimming as much as I did and as much as I do – for the friendships and fitness and competition – they need to love it. I can’t love it for them.

They seem like they might be on that path: between the two of them, they dropped 21 seconds across three events; snagged two heat-winner ribbons; and won one event overall. They also smiled and giggled and joked and jabbered with friends, old and brand-new. And it struck me: they might know some of these kids for the rest of their lives.

Josh’s mom died last year. Reflecting on her remarkable life, he likened her to a water droplet. It was an apt comparison. She had taught hundreds (thousands?) of kids and adults to swim. If she were a droplet, and Josh were a ripple, then surely each of us is both a droplet and a ripple in the lives of others.

Josh’s words about his mom apply equally to himself:

“[He] lived and loved doing it. I was so very lucky to be part of this droplet put here into the water.

I am still part of this drop of water. It quenched so many and the ripples from it will be reverberating for many, many years.”

Adam (right), with his friend, Josh, (left).

My thanks to Adam for letting me post this. He’s one of those people that you meet over social media and wish you had had the chance to be friends in person. He’s a good man.

I think Adam would also join me in recommending those books by Dr. Keith Bell to anyone looking to get out of their own head and increase their performance. Swimmers in particular will like them, but the lessons apply in many ways. Adam’s post reminded me I need to load them on my Kindle. Great lessons, and great memories from those days on the Mary Washington College swim team. A team for which I’d still run through brick walls, for all the reasons Adam captured.

Those books are a drop that becomes a ripple. Josh was too. Adam’s post has now accomplished the same thing. I hope you find a way today, this week, or sometime soon to be the drop that becomes a ripple too.

Seriously, this is important. A lesson I wish I learned *years* ago.

The last time we were in New Orleans, we had to go with the flow to find a house on the quick after the first home we planned to purchase failed inspection.

Take 2 on actually buying the home we want has been it’s own adventure.

After agreeing to buy this house — and after it passed inspection! — we decided to put it on Airbnb until we move down this summer to make some extra coin since New Orleans is such a popular tourist jaunt. To do that we shipped a pod of furniture and belongings south to set up the new house (leaving our current home rather sparse for now). We planned to close on April 8, with the pod scheduled to arrive on April 9.

We booked our trip back for the closing and then more fun started:

• The first appraisal came back bad. So potentially deal-killing bad, the lender ate the cost of it and ordered a second one (after blacklisting the first appraiser). Our real estate agent has never had a lender do that.
• The second appraisal was all good, except for the part where the listing agent showed up with the wrong key for the appointment. The resulting delay to reschedule put us at threat for not closing on time.
• And sure enough, after a scramble to meet last minute document requests from the lender and lock-down insurance for the house (including flood insurance, because it’s New Orleans!), we were set for the financing…but without an exact date for closing.
• Stephani (my wife), Sophia (our daughter), and I took off on a plane from our Seattle on our previously booked flight on April 6 not knowing when we’d close, Friday the 8th or Monday the 11th. And if we closed later, not knowing where we’d stay over the coming weekend since our Airbnb was booked through April 9. Oh, and we had to do umpteen things once we got on the ground anyway to get the house ready for rental on Airbnb before we’re scheduled to fly back to Seattle.

This shot is from a recent ad campaign for my employer, but might as well be us trying to keep our shit together through all this.

The time between our last trip to New Orleans at the end of February and this trip has not been easy. At all. Bad re-acclimation back to a place in Seattle where our hearts  are no longer at rest. Stress for me from work. Just not good.

We’ve also got way too many big-ticket items on the list of huge stressors in life:

• Buying a house.
• Moving (out of state!)
• Changing jobs
• Changing careers

Each of those by themselves can be a huge challenge. In sum, well, they’re not a hoot.

Along the way we’re raising two teenagers, with all that naturally comes with that, for everyone involved. It’s life, but injected into a stressful situation. That’s been hard on all of us, especially our beautiful, mature, smart-as-hell daughter. She senses my stress and resulting energy, sometimes better than I do. That’s been really hard on her, which torments me.

Meanwhile, our son Joseph injected some fun into the mix  from college. First his car died in Montana (as in, an engine blew — or threw — a rod, so it was toast). We had buy him a replacement, with an eye toward three more winters in Montana, thus a used Subaru Outback. And who doesn’t want to spend several thousand unexpected bucks right before buying and setting up a new house  across the country?

[weeps softly]

Oh, and Joseph let us know recently he has to drop two classes from his maximum class load this semester because he was doing poorly enough they were going to lower his GPA below what he needs to maintain his ROTC scholarship. That means a couple classes over the summer to catch-up.

Smooth, Joseph, smooth.

With all that in mind, we landed in New Orleans and figured out: yep, not closing until Monday. But we were able to book another Airbnb as a back-up, and request that the seller, who had already vacated the house, give us a pre-occupancy agreement to get in the house on the day we originally planned to close.

Done.

Today is the day we were supposed to close on the house. We didn’t do that like we planned.

But, we did get the keys to the house. We moved in some sweet used furniture Stephani and Sophia scooped up yesterday. Our new master bed and mattress arrived at our new home today (thanks Amazon!). We bought a new washer and dryer, from a fabulously kind sales manager at Sears, which will be delivered tomorrow morning. We loaded up on household items we need for the new place (I’m here to tell you $450 at WalMart goes a long way!). Our pod of furniture and belongings arrives tomorrow afternoon. Our electric and gas bills are set up. The cable guy is coming on Monday afternoon, after we sign the closing papers in the morning.

Yes, there is still more to do, not all of it is likely to go as planned. It has been incredibly stressful. And hard in different ways on each member of our family. We’ve all had moments we wish we would have shown up better and had a different impact. Me especially.

But, it’s ok.

I’m typing this now on the master bed of a quirky Airbnb in a double shotgun house in New Orleans (look it up, they’re a thing!)with a powerful sense of gratitude.

Yes, this has not been easy. At times, downright painful.

But, we’re able to buy a home before we move so it’s waiting for us in several months. We’re in New Orleans now. Learning our new city. Enjoying being here (including this glorious dining establishment)! And getting things done at a good pace, even if the sequence isn’t what we expected.

Even the twists with Joseph have a silver lining: he’s learning lessons he had to learn on his own. He’s also showing real gratitude to us and other signs of maturity every parent wants to see, even if the path to seeing them isn’t always fun.

And while things often haven’t gone as planned with our home buying in New Orleans, and definitely not perfectly, they’ve been working out. In the past, things like a failed inspection on the first house we tried to buy and a missed closing date plan that threatened to play havoc on our travel and logistical plans would have put us in a total state of mind fuck.

Each in our own ways, Stephani and I had the ability to get wrapped around the axle when things didn’t go the way we hoped, expected, or planned. Living in the moment and going with the flow is a different experience, even if we — and I — still have a lot to learn.

Thank, God for that difference. Letting of what we plan to embrace what the universe is offering is so much better.

Things aren’t perfect, whatever the hell that is but, they are good.

That’ll do.

I’m reading a book called “Follow Your Passion, Find Your Power” that includes talking about the importance of embracing the thoughts that excite and inspire you, because they have power.

Here are some of those thoughts for me, contained in my response to this incredible ad:

Wow.

If the agency that made this video came to pitch me on a product, I’d say: “Just take my money. Now.”

Here are the splendid details that make the ad exceptional:

• The elegant, slow arc of Michael Phelp’s  underwater dolphin kicks, one of his most powerful strengths as a swimmer.
• That song: “The Last Goodbye.” So gloriously fitting for the greatest Olympian of all-time making a run at his mind-blowing 5th Olympics. Including this lyric, “I have no regrets…for the past is behind.” More poignant than words can adequately describe given Phelps’ well chronicled missteps and rehab (more on that emotional tale here).
• The imagery: the shivering ice bath. The massive plate of food. The grimace of pain working through the PT needed to recover the body during a brutal workout regime.  The repetition. The sweat. The vomit. The shaking on the pool deck in the pre-dawn hours. The repeated scenes of sleep, which the weary body craves amidst peak training. All these are things many an endurance athlete knows well, in some form.
• The sounds: the splash and swirl the swimmer hears under water. The hand slap of the pool after finishing a set, in moments of either exaltation or anger. The scream of the coach. The silence of the lonely grind. The roar of the crowd as the moment you trained months and years for approaches.
• That long, lonely black line down the length of the swimming lane. Because no matter how crowded the pool (or any other venue), training for this kind and level of sport becomes about you, your soul, your will, your power, your burning desire.
• Then the close as the crowd’s roar builds: “It’s what you do in the dark, that puts you in the light.”

You want to know what lights my soul on fire?

That.

That hero of my sport.

That glimpse of unvarnished humanity.

That rawness of the brutal grind of the elite athlete.

The window into the soul of what it takes to be the best.

People. Sport. The Human Spirit.

That’s what lights my soul on fire.

And that, that’s an exceptional video.

So exceptional that Phelps and his fiancee wept when they saw it, eliciting this response from him: “The world is going to see the real Michael Phelps, and that’s what I’m excited for.”

Excited? Me too.

I can’t wait for Rio.

Our new home in New Orleans.

My lovely bride, Stephani, and I bought a house in New Orleans. Sight unseen. We flew down from Seattle for the inspection. Now we’re flying back having bought a totally different home, with a deep sense of gratitude for what happened.

Why are we moving with our beautiful, independent daughter, Sophia, from Seattle to New Orleans? Because we want something different.

Different might sound really cool (and it is!). But, making a declarative statement about making huge changes in your life can create a lot of stress. For all the joy that awaits, there are details that go with moving a family and changing jobs (and careers!) that have the potential to be intensely stressful.

And I’m prone to stress. The stress of worry. The stress of grappling with the unknown. It’s in my nature. It’s part of what I saw from a major adult figure in my formative years. It’s an aspect of my life I’ve had to consciously and mindfully unwind as I’ve transformed physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually in the last few years.

So, imagine what’s possible in my pre-transformation head when I agreed to make New Orleans our first choice for re-location before I went there. Even once. Imagine what’s possible in my head when my wife and I fly down for my first visit (and her second), we look at houses, have a less than desirable experience with our first real estate agent, and leave town without finding a home.

Could be just a tad stressful, no?

One thing I’ve been learning in my personal journey the last few years is the value of letting go of preconceived outcomes and going with the flow. From digging deeper in yoga, to unpacking more about the Law of Attraction, to exploring and implementing a greater practice in mindfulness, my learning and experiences have been pointing in an increasingly aligned direction: sent an intention mindfully, then allow it to happen. Don’t force it.

That’s why I’ve been going with the flow. Setting an intention around what I, my wife, and my daughter want in this transition, doing what I can to control it, then rolling with the rest.

After we came back from our house-hunting trip to New Orleans, we found a home that fit the criteria we landed on while searching in person and had our new real estate agent check it out. She toured it, took a video, and gave us a rundown.

We bought it.

Sight unseen.

And about that new real estate agent. We looked at nine homes with our first agent. That didn’t go particularly well, including a bad vibe from her getting tart with other agents. While processing that vibe on our house hunting trip, we took a yoga class at a studio Stephani fell in love with during her first trip to New Orleans with Sophia. We got to talking to the teacher/owner, Tara, after class. Turns out her mom is a real estate agent, who found the funky, charming, old walk-up apartment Tara converted into the combined yoga studio and home in which we were talking.

Sold. We contacted her mom shortly thereafter.

Fast forward to us flying into town for the inspection on the house we bought with our new, soon-to-prove-herself-in-ways-we-couldn’t-imagine agent.

I coordinated with the inspector and agent, and a Louisiana-based lender, to set-up the inspection at 8:30 on a Monday morning. We arrive that day, were greeted by the listing agent, and shortly thereafter our agent and the inspector. Pleasantries ensued. The inspection begins.

Minutes later, the inspector called me over.

Termites. One side of the home has a big problem. An active infestation, so bad part of one of the walls bent like rubber when you gave it a good push.

And, we’re done. Right there. The inspection, and the deal to buy the house, is over just like that because an entire wall (if not more) will have to come down before the place can be sold.

So, the entire reason we flew down to New Orleans for several days has been quashed in a manner of minutes.

Imagine the ball of worry and stress in my soul I described in my pre-transformation self. I can, and it’s not pretty.

My stress level would have soared. Stephani would have become agitated. I would have become irritable. And the downward spiral would have been bad, bad, bad.

Instead it was chill. No emotions running high. Just going with the flow.

We re-grouped on the front lawn of the home we’d no longer be buying. We started looking for more options to check out while we were still in town before our flight the next afternoon and agreed on a game plan, balancing our agent’s other commitments in that time window. She eventually scurried back to her office to look up options. We went to grab something to eat and do the same on our phones.

A little while later texts with fresh options came rolling in. We soon agreed to meet at one of those, with plans to hit a couple more after that before our agent’s existing afternoon appointments. By a little before 11:30 am we’re in the first of our new options.

And by noon we agreed to make an offer. Minutes after that we had an updated pre-approval letter from our lender. And later that evening we reached an agreement to buy that house.

That house that has:

• The fully fenced back yard we had been looking for but couldn’t quite find just right, including space for the tiny home Sophia will use.
• The historic charms we had found were otherwise out of our price range, like glass door knobs and a brick-filled fireplace to add character.
• The front porch Stephani and I both dream of, gazing out at palm trees next door and across the street.
• Antique hardwood floors and beams through part of the house that weren’t part of any other home we saw in our price range.
• Renovated bathrooms (a must for us…and something it was clear in the inspection that the owner of the previous home we almost bought had fudged about).
• Modern, energy-efficient, double pane windows – a rare thing in even many pricey New Orleans homes – that I prefer.
• And, the list could go on.

The point isn’t even the exact features we wanted. The point is this house that came to us unexpectedly had what we wanted, but hadn’t yet found. That’s because the house wasn’t yet even on the market when we booked the trip for the original inspection, but is was there when we were supposed to find it. Because we let it happen, rather than force it.

The final sign it was meant to be: there are engravings of the fleur-de-lis in the inside frame of the front door. Yes, those are common symbols in the French-infused culture of New Orleans. It’s also a symbol in the corresponding tattoos Stephani and I have on our left forearms. Tattoos we got well before the idea of moving to New Orleans was anything more than a glimmer in our eyes.

The fleur-de-lis, a final sign we’re home

That day was an exercise of going with the flow. Adapting on the fly. Taking, then seizing, what the universe gave us. Start the day inspecting one house for purchase, finish it having agreed to buy another, that wasn’t remotely on our radar screen.

We obviously found that real estate agent via fortuitous means. The rest was going with the flow. The lender who responded on a dime to our new need for an offer? He was the first of our agent’s recommendations who called back . The inspector? That’s who our agent had inspect both of her homes, and he didn’t charge us a dime for the time he spent inspecting the house that fell through (and you can bet we’ll be using him for this next inspection!).

All of it was things that happened because we sent an intention for what we wanted to do. Did our part. Then allowed it to happen…without trying to impose our expectations on it.

I’ve played the game in reverse. Wanting instead of setting an intention. Imposing my worry on the situation. And trying to force things into my expectations.

I recommend that approach a lot less.

Was buying a house sight unseen the most prudent thing ever? Maybe not. But it wasn’t unwise, because of how we did things, and allowed them to work out in a way that served us way better than anything we could have hoped.

That’s why the return trip on which I’m typing this post is filled with gratitude. Deep, abiding gratitude. And anticipation for what is to come, including finding my next professional path, which is a post for the future.

For now, here’s to saying “no, thanks” to forcing things and “yes” to going with the flow!

Voting for President isn’t just about political preferences, it’s about selecting a human being to sit in the White House. To be the Leader of the Free World. There are standards for the position that should apply to Republicans and Democrats alike. Donald Trump fails the test against those standards.

I used to be popular political blogger in another life. I don’t intend on posting on politics at this blog, pretty much ever…with this being a perhaps singular exception. Fighting back against the scourge that is Donald Trump is necessary.

There are many take downs of Trump if you really want to read in greater detail, such as:

• From the right, Dana Loesch offers a summary of the integrity and morals-free zone that are Donald Trump’s business dealings, as well as a long list of Trump’s history of supporting Democrats and Democratic policy positions. Feb 22 UPDATE: Erick Erickson offers a full-throated “nope!” on the Donald from the right too. Feb 24 UPDATE: This concise list of 11 reasons for conservatives to vote against Trump is robust as well.

• From the left, Ezra Klein reviews how Trump doesn’t have the temperament to be President, including this succinct riff:

Trump is the most dangerous major candidate for president in memory. He pairs terrible ideas with an alarming temperament; he’s a racist, a sexist, and a demagogue, but he’s also a narcissist, a bully, and a dilettante. He lies so constantly and so fluently that it’s hard to know if he even realizes he’s lying. He delights in schoolyard taunts and luxuriates in backlash.

Feb 24 UPDATE: And related to temperament, Trump really is a sexist pig , including terrible jokes about “banging his daughter.”

• And from academia, some thoughts on how our society is complicit in aiding and abetting Trump’s rise (thank you mainstream media!). Yeah, there are some Nazi analogies, but it’s disturbingly on point, even if it does violate Godwin’s Law.

Here’s the irony about me flaying the current “Republican” front-runner: I’ve identified as a Republican my whole life.

I worked for a Republican U.S. Senator. I worked in George W. Bush’s Administration as a political appointee. I wrote at the most popular conservative political blog in Washington state for over two years. Today, dramatic life changes and all, including a yoga and vegan-infused lifestyle, I still identify as Republican (though least imperfectly in the “Crunchy Con” mold than anything else).

And I won’t vote for Donald Trump.

He’s neither a Republican nor a Democrat. He’s an oligarch, whose animating political philosophy is whatever is in his head at the time…which invariably relates not to a set of core political beliefs, but whatever Donald Trump thinks is best for Donald Trump in the moment.

If he’s the “Republican” nominee, I won’t vote for President.

I won’t vote for Hillary or Bernie either based on political preferences. But, I won’t shame myself by voting for someone my conscious says is not fit to serve as President of the United States, regardless of party identification.

That is a legitimate worry with Trump. What do people who are hate-spewing demagogues, ignorant bullies, and shameless liars act like when they come to power?

Tyrants, that’s what.

There is a lot of world history on this. And it’s the antithesis of what the American Republic has stood for since its founding.

As Republicans and Democrats we can argue about the issues of the day. Lament the actions of each other’s parties. Cheer for our preferred candidates. And hopefully still be able to sit down for a beer or cup of coffee from time to time.

In the meantime, we must stop Donald Trump. Now. All of us.

The alternative: steel ourselves for  trench warfare between branches of government as the Courts and Congress — including Republicans and Democrats alike! — serve as a necessary check on the Oligarch in the Oval Office.

Feb 24 UPDATE: It might be easy to say if you’re a Democrat, “Trump has the highest unfavorable ratings of a prospective general election nominee…pretty much ever. We’ll crush him in November!”

Yeah. And no one thought him becoming the Republican nominee was seriously possible either.

Meanwhile, he’s winning as Republican turnout soars and Democratic turnout drops during the primary season. Yes, Trump is a horribly flawed general election candidate. But so are Hillary and Bernie (for very different reasons).  Wishing for Republican nominee Donald Trump is playing with the worst kind of fire.

What’s interesting about this image of the recently deceased Justice Scalia and his near polar ideological opposite on the Court, Justice Ginsburg?

They were friends (more here).

The joy some have expressed at the passing of Justice Scalia and the immediate high dudgeon descent around the politics on both sides of filling his seat puts a fine point on something that was all too evident during this already boisterous election season: too many people hate those with whom they disagree.

That, my friends, is really fucking sad.

We should be able to disagree — even quite heatedly — with someone’s political views without thinking that person is evil, stupid, or mentally ill. Because bad news: no one side of the political spectrum has a monopoly there. There are bad, dumb, sick in the head people that affiliate with both our major parties in America (some of them are even running for President!).

I used to be a political blogger, and a damn good one at that. One reason I don’t miss it  is the inability of so many people to grasp that basic point of giving the grace of humanity to one’s political opponents; something Justices Scalia and Ginsburg apparently did quite beautifully.

I wasn’t successful blogging in politics because I didn’t have a strong voice or point of view. I most definitely did. But, I also wrote from more than a view point of pure ideology, I wrote from a viewpoint of humanity. And I had people on the opposite side of the spectrum respect me and my work, even when they often disagreed with my take on an issue or election.

I wrote like that in part because I’ve seen people in public life be more successful when they display and live a degree of humanity that can transcend the partisan knife fights that are sometimes the reality of our representative democracy (and have been from the first days of our Republic as Jeffersonians and Hamiltonians exchanged insults and accusations (and worse!) that would make us blush today).

One example of that humanity: my first professional boss was the subject of tributes on the floor of the U.S. Senate after his defeat that were “personal and passionate and bipartisan“…and delivered in that tone in the midst of the terribly divisive Bush-Gore drama that followed the 2000 Election. Say what you want about the Senate, but a man or woman who can serve with partisan success and bipartisan admiration in that body over time has at their root, a sense of humanity. Success in that body requires building meaningful human relationships.

Today I count friends that are my political opposite. Friendships, both in person and online, that in many cases started with the foundation of knowing we were political foes. Those friends were on the other side of  key issues and races of the day when I was blogging, but we learned our shared humanity could transcend those differences.

I worked for George W. Bush as a political appointee in the U.S. Department of Education. One takeaway for me from that time: W, for all his acquired political enemies, was a man of immense human dignity and compassion. If you doubt that I give you one of the best pieces of evidence of the man’s heart: his AIDS initiative in Africa that saved millions of lives, and came to fruition primarily because George W. Bush cared.

When Barack Obama won in 2008, the days of all the Bush appointees were numbered, with the long-standing tradition that political appointees resign by Inauguration Day when a new party takes the White House. Word came down quickly after the Election of W’s direction: this transition would be conducted with dignity, respect, and appropriate assistance to Obama’s incoming team, because we were Americans first, partisans second.

During the transition I was contacted by a Democratic friend, and admirer (though not supporter!) of my blogging. He asked if I’d be willing to meet with an Obama hand who was looking at the very Department of Education job I held. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. In part because my of respect for W’s wishes, in part because I admire anyone, of either party, who works on a major campaign.

Say what you want about the pros and cons of each candidate for President this cycle, their staffs deserve appreciation. I sure as hell don’t want most of them to win, but I honor the passion for our country and the ideas in which they believe that compelled them to take jobs so difficult, for such long hours, for so little pay…many of which will end in defeat.

The Obama staffer I met with was an organizer for the campaign, starting in Iowa, then all the way through the long primary and general elections of 2008. We weren’t soon going to agree on politics, but she too was in the game for the right reasons. So I gave her all the advice I could about securing a political appointment and what to think about in considering different opportunities in different agencies and offices. Toward the end of our conversation she mentioned word was getting around how upstanding W and his team were being during the transition and she joked she had more advice at that point in landing a political appointment in the Obama Administration from a “Bushie” than from her own team.

That’s the way politics should be played. Fight like hell for what you believe. But never lose basic human respect and decency for those with whom you disagree.

And hell, the way this Presidential primary season is unfolding, we all may be putting that to the test in the months ahead.