Few things are worse in the political arena than working tirelessly for months, for yourself, a cause, or a candidate in whom you believe, only to find that the votes didn’t go your way.

It doesn’t matter if it was 70-30, 60-40, or 49-51. A loss is a loss.

Whether it’s because you were outspent, outworked, you were too positive, you were too negative, you were too young, you’d been there too long, you got in the race too late, you peaked too early, you focused on the wrong issues, turnout was low, turnout was higher than expected, or any other reason that someone offers you the morning after, your heart is a little bit…or maybe even a lot of bit…broken.

If it isn’t, you worked for the wrong candidate.

I know this because I’ve been on both sides – all sides. I’ve been on the losing team when we deserved to win and the losing team when we deserved to lose. I’ve also been on the winning team when we deserved to win and even when we didn’t. All evoke a different kind of emotion, but an emotion nevertheless because you hopped on board because you care.

Campaigning is probably one of the most exhilarating and simultaneously toxic activities in American culture. There are highs and lows, so many good people, and so much uncertainty. I always joke that you have to be a little bit mental to enjoy it because who thinks it’s fun to play a (usually unfriendly) game of, “Is the person telling you the truth when they say they’ll vote for you? I don’t know – let’s wait a few months and find out.”

For me, I always like the definitive aspect of campaigning and elections. Much like my job with AllOnGeorgia, campaigning places you in a position where people will either stand with you or against you. They will either defend you or they will tear you down. They will take sides and, for the end of time, you will forever know where they stand. Campaigns bring out the best and the worst of people and I find it to be refreshing to know who stands with the best and who will publicly stand with the worst.

And if you’re competitive, invested, or just honest, you probably associate “loss” with “loser,” but the two are not the same. A loss means you didn’t win, but “a loser” is a mentality, a state of life, a quality of character – or lack thereof. Those who stand for what they believe, no matter what the cost, are never losers.

I know a lot of winners who lost last night around this state…and a lot of “losers” who won. [Don’t take that to mean no good people won, that’s certainly not the case either.]

Knowing and understanding all of that may not take away where you are emotionally.

You may be angry with the people around you right now, and in some cases, it may be justified. You may have been the center of a smear campaign, as it seems those are becoming more and more popular around our state. It may have been your husband or wife that was tarnished – even in a victory – and that isn’t something you wake up and no longer resent. You may just be angry that you told the truth and it went unheard. Or that you did as you believed only to learn that isn’t what others believe. That you’re a minority.

But while you’re the minority, you aren’t alone. It’s the old adage of quality over quantity.

My boss has always told me, “Not everyone will support you, but the right ones always will.”

Read that again: The right ones always will. So don’t let them down by seeing yourself as a “loser” or carrying yourself as one. The right ones stood with you for a reason.

Because the most definitive aspect of campaigning is how it defines you. Are you defined by a political candidate or a career yourself? Is politics the most important thing you’ll do with your life?

For most of you, that answer is a resounding no.

It happened. All of my frustrations from a ridiculous election season followed by an even more absurd legislative  session culminated into one, giant hate-filled implosion. But before we get to the “fixing,” let’s start with the “causing.”

I went into this session excited, which is surprising considering this was not my first. But my excitement quickly crumbled into little bits of ‘what the hell?’ when an entire group of people I trusted abandoned what I knew of them – a complete toppling of conviction in this mess of politics because of ego and greed.

I couldn’t take one more second of the blow hards on Facebook pretending that ‘their’ elected official was somehow ‘immune’ to the ridiculousness and still had ‘pure tendencies.’ The lies, the backstabbing, and then my phone was changing “Amen” to “amendment”. I couldn’t even end a prayer without thoughts of politics. I had had enough.

I left work early on Wednesday mad as hell. I went home, walked the dogs and headed to the
gym. Except that made it all worse. The lady three treadmills down from me was talking on her phone and I could hear her entire conversation over the ever-so-timely Cee Lo Green song on my headphones. I was about ready to march off my machine, yank her cord right out of the socket, and rip her a new one when I actually made eye contact with her. I felt this overwhelming guilt consume me because I didn’t hate the lady on the treadmill. I hated that all of the hate had consumed me and I no longer recognized myself. I…hated it.

I’m not sure if you know this, but I too am a human. Despite the disparaging blogs, the sassy,  sarcastic comments, and the sometimes anti-political tirades, my heart is still pure. I am a grateful cheerful person. I like wine, pizza, puppies, and babies who aren’t weeping – just like everyone else. And despite the hype, I am not as bad as some make me out to be. Like everyone else, I pick my battles and burn bridges, but I do so carefully. If you look back over 4 years of writing, I’ve only lit the match for 2 bridges: the one connecting me to Sen. John Albers and the other to Rep. Christian Coomer.

Why does this matter? Because I had a heavy heart over the people who did not see my tenacious effort to discuss things, not people. And then I realized, it isn’t my fault that elected officials take their job so seriously that a criticism of their work kills any conversation and most of the time, all friendships. It isn’t my fault that their pursuit of ‘what is right’ does not look like mine. It isn’t my fault that they have a problem with me.

But the humanity.

This humanity thing, it keeps us immune to many things, like melting and time travel, but not from the hatred we see amongst us in politics. Not the hurt of finding that a mutual contributor who writes alongside side you says horrible, nasty no-good things about you’ and tells people they want nothing more than to see you fail.

Humanity does not make you immune to the deafening silence of no one around when you’ve been raked over the coals. It does not keep you warm in the ice-cold reality of knowing those you depended on won’t be there.

Humanity does not make you immune to recognizing that just about every legislator, or citizen for that matter, from Gwinnett county is trying to make your life a living hell because you don’t like a few of their ‘concepts.’

Humanity does not keep us from hating people back because they hated us first.

Humanity does not make you immune to the pain of a defeat, no matter how small.

Humanity does not make you immune to the fact that the ‘minority’ in this state is not a party or a race, but a group of people who have nothing to gain from this vicious, cyclical game that most of us cannot escape.

I’ve been called a lot of things in the last 90 days – some under the Gold Dome and some from those people on Maple Avenue. Pro-predator, someone who supports human trafficking, just about every curse word you can imagine, and of course, someone who has ‘close ties to the adult entertainment industry.’ But I am none of these things.

What I am is “green.” Even after 5 years. I’ve never been in situations where people hate others. High school was a pretty easy time in my life and most of my jobs have yielded friends, not enemies. I have a few weird family members, but I am told that is normal.

In politics, there is no shoulder to cry on. In fact, there isn’t really a time, place, or purpose for crying at all. And unless you’re married to someone in politics – which I thankfully am not – you go home to find that what you feel is even harder to explain to someone on the outside. Your mom will just want to “fix it” and if she can’t, she’ll want to fight those battles for you. Your friends just want you to have a glass of wine and forget about it.

Then social media complicates things. When you aren’t consumed with the political rants, your feed is bombarded with wicked skinny witches who are leaving the maternity ward with skinny bird legs that are still somehow smaller than yours at your own birth and that pesky, annoying person from high school who has received yet another promotion. There is no escaping humanity.

But the truth is: I don’t want to be immune from the humanity.

You see, the “me” in this isn’t just me and all the “I…” is really just the voice of a lot of other people like me. The people who see no appeal in the actual game. The people who want to make a difference. The people who have nothing to gain. Replace “Jessica” in this article with the person you can’t stand and want to see fail. Ask yourself if you’re forcing them to face unnecessary battles.

Sometimes we all need slack and understanding. Sometimes we need a break to restore ourselves to the softness of which we know of ourselves to embody. Sometimes we forget that we are dealing with living, breathing human beings. We forget that human beings, by nature and the grace of God, have feelings.

The biggest problem is that we forget that we all got into this because we had ‘some feelings’ about ‘some issue’ at some point. We suffer when we forget what those feelings are. Personally, that is my new daily task and it will take nothing short of a valiant effort.

In the meantime, I implore you to look at how you treat those around you. Specifically, those you find yourself disliking and hating the most. Ask yourself how much better off you’ll be by putting someone else down. It’s time we start distinguishing between the people who truly hurt our cause and our progress from those who, much like ourselves, are fighting the battles for the things they believe to be right. We need to make a concerted effort to not destroy PEOPLE because their POLICIES do not look like ours.

Most people in politics are terrible people. Those of us who cling to our purity should not succumb to being like ‘most people.’

The question I get most frequently in the realm of politics is ‘Where did you come from?’ or rather, why am I the way I am? Don’t worry, this isn’t the beginning of an Eminem song.

Like any person, my direct route from day 1 to present is full of twists and turns.  So many experiences mold us into who we are, but for many people, it is difficult to pin point the exact moment in time when they became who they are. I don’t have that problem.

I have always had an argumentative streak and my 11th grade history teacher at Centennial High School, Mr. Porter, did no disservice in allowing me to speak my mind early and often despite his love of Abraham Lincoln and his first edition Toyota Prius. In 2004, I was still the cookie cutter solid suburban (R) who would defend the party until I was blue in the face, and God bless him, he had to deal with me in an election year. It served us both well and prepped me for college and graduate school where I continued to evolve.

But my life changed the day I met Andrew Wordes, the Roswell Chicken man. A man of small stature and a unique voice you could pick out of any crowd, I met Andrew at a campaign event in 2009. He was kind and gracious and wanted to know what, as a young person, drove me to get involved in politics. “It was an accident,” I told him. But he shrugged it off, said that was impossible, and went on to show me pictures of his dog, pigs, and of course, his chicken. I entertained the conversation because I couldn’t believe he had chickens in the ‘burbs.

Over the next few months, I saw Andrew several times and eventually, someone filled me in on his battle against the City of Roswell. I was mortified to learn about his years-long debacle. The man withstood a retroactive vendetta ordinance, lawsuit(s) against him by the City (an unprecedented act in the State of Georgia), the grading of the land around his home by the City without permission and notice, pressure to submit to eminent domain far below FMV, multiple nights in jail due to police harassment, city employees meddling with his mortgage holder, and the poisoning of his animals which caused the death of over half of them, yet some how some way, the man managed to get up every day to see another fight and volunteer to help others.

I was enamored by his lengthy story and asked him if I could document it on my blog. Of course he said yes and we began talking almost daily so he could fill me in on updates between the lawsuits and the police casing his home.

He sometimes appeared angry, but that was mostly out of frustration of people not listening. He wanted to be heard. He was often characterized as ‘crazy’ but that was purely because he was unwavering and was doing things no one had ever done. He had compassion and showed complete devastation when his animals were poisoned and dying – he held them and nurtured them in their suffering. He was never short on emotion and I adored that about him.

He was a man of controversy because he challenged his government, bucked the system, mouthed off, often stood alone, and never gave up. He ultimately took his own life under pressures many of us will be lucky enough to never face. He made some mistakes and he wasn’t always the most eloquent man, but he was a man of conviction and principle. He loved his freedom, his country, and his God.

Tomorrow, March 26th, marks the 3 year anniversary of the death of my sweet friend Andrew Wordes. I still have a page on my blog dedicated to highlighting his stories. Three years and I can’t take it down, despite that fact that it highlights my reel of immature and unrefined elementary writing skills. I still have a voicemail on an old phone from Sunday, March 25th, 2012 from Andrew. He told me things were “good” and he was expecting things to turn around. He said we would talk tomorrow so we could plan our next course of action to keep fighting. Session was in and he wanted to go down and talk to his State Senator who wouldn’t take his calls.

He died the next day but left a fire in us all that reminds us we can’t just fight our own battles and we can’t always choose the big “flashy” battles. He left behind an inspired and an enraged league of Liberty-lovers who don’t forget to mention his story. He didn’t win his battle, but he’s winning the war because every day someone, somewhere inches closer to awakening on an issue and someone new gets involved. He taught others to further this and to do so with conviction and emotion – so as never to come across as disingenuous.

I don’t believe in coincidences. It was no accident that I met Andrew on my very first campaign at the very first event. It’s no accident that Andrew’s story was one of the first controversial blogs I ever penned – an extreme illustration of government overreach that went largely unnoticed by the media – two things I stomp and raise a ruckus about now.  It’s no coincidence that –right or wrong- even the drama surrounding the incident of Andrew taking his own life was a political statement that continues the conversation.

I have no doubt that I documented Andrew’s story on my own blog, not for his benefit, but for mine.  So that when I felt like giving up, I would have a written journal of what he encountered and a shiny mirror of reflection illuminating the fact that he never relented. A staunch reminder that I was taught to stand tall and loud even when I’m alone and to never withhold my emotion and passion from a cause – no matter how small.

As we head into another legislative session, everyone is getting their ‘game face’ on, and by ‘game face’ I mean ‘fake face.’ They’re stretching their arms for those ever-so-delicate handshakes, you know the ones I’m talking about…where you grasp one hand and embrace the elbow of the opposite person with the other hand. The phony smiles and the awkward photo ops. All of it is upon us.

But I can’t stand it. It’s something I struggle with significantly in politics. The schmoozing and the deceit. Part of it is my inability to filter thoughts before they exit my mouth and part of it stems from my idealistic nature, but I find the schmoozing to be dishonest and deceptive.  I recognize that you can’t just go barreling through every GOP meeting and Facebook argument letting every single person know how much you truly dislike them – or more likely, something they are doing, (and certainly not everyone needs to be Coomered,) but at what point is the cordiality detrimental to the process?

At political events, I like standing in the back of the room watching people interact. You’ll see someone hug it out, smile and exchange conversation about the wonderfulness of each other and both will walk away rolling their eyes only to do the same thing to the next person. Yet both think there is a mutual friendship. Based on what?

People in politics are mean and we know this. We often times treat each other terribly for no good reason. Pre-conceived notions, looks, newness, affiliations and friends, or sometimes ‘just because’ all determine how people are harshly judged in politics. We’re all guilty of it because it’s part of the game, right? But friendships have no foundation and everyone is shocked when both the relationships and the process crumble.

My problem is that The Game is exhausting. The Game has come to the point of stagnation and because of The Game, you can’t defeat that awful legislator with deep pockets because even his greatest enemies funnel money to the campaign war chest (mind blown – by the way) and The Game is why folks are blindsided on Election Day or at conventions because ‘everyone said they would vote for me.’

The game also dictated the point at which it became socially unacceptable to politely, to their face, tell an elected official that you don’t like their vote or their legislation. Most level-headed people understand that telling them so doesn’t mean they have to change how they think, but we don’t even talk about talking about it because this talking is not allowed. The Game is truly why we cannot have nice things.

Internet articles and blogs have certainly changed things and there are some elected officials- party and political- who welcome dissent because they believe it makes them better, but most in the process hate any dissent and consider it a grave threat. They’re forgetting every coin has two sides.

I admit every day that my idealism gets me in trouble more than some might think and I am mostly proud of that. I’ve always said it’s my starting point because when we start in the middle, we all lose. But I also expect better because I’ve seen it in action. I know it seems I sometimes harp on what seems to be ‘the obvious’ but when someone is not pointing out ‘the obvious’, everyone is just standing around pretending ‘the obvious’ isn’t there, twiddling their fingers, continually taking the long, twisted path to exit the maze when there is a direct route.

People in politics – and even those not in politics – understand that no politician or activist is the same. Voters are not the same. People think differently and it’s the compromising ‘middle ground’ part that’s hard. In a debate yesterday, someone told me, ‘Well, that’s the best we are going to get.’ I’m not stupid. I know that, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. It doesn’t mean I have to enjoy lukewarm day-old oatmeal with no cinnamon. So I’m going to keep asking for better tasting oatmeal so people don’t get accustomed to serving the Wal-Mart brand. (The Wal-Mart brand being the dishonest “gaming” brand, if I lost you in that analogy.)

Tell me: What’s more respectable than honesty? What’s more valuable than knowing where you stand with someone?  What’s more freeing than clearing the air with someone with whom you have tension? What’s more honorable than having the guts to tell someone directly why AND how you think?

Perhaps if we offered a little more honesty, we would see a little more honesty out of the process.

Depending on when you started reading this blog, you may or may not have followed the Green Acres reenactment documented here. If you didn’t, it may help with perspective if you catch up. If you did, great…let’s pick up where we left off.

Before we go forward though, let’s acknowledge that to industry standard of blogging something on here will offend someone. That’s the point. Those are the things that make us think critically. And today we will think critically about concrete jungles.

City life is suffocating. City life is suffocating and we often don’t even know why. We attribute it to the stress of our jobs, bills, the traffic, the weather, and family-work life balance accompanied by a laundry list of other things. It lacks the freedom and peace of life outside the metro areas where you embrace those around you and not only see, but feel your surroundings. You see yourself in the mirror, not the clock in the background telling your you’re late yet again.

Here in the city, we wake up and do the same thing every day. Same time, same place. Every 5th house is the same- literally the exact same floor plan- just different colors on the walls. Builders scoot by because we want what our neighbors want (or at least we think we do) and of course, it’s the cheapest way to do it and how much of an investment are we really looking to have here? It’s not like it’s our forever home. We will have to move again in 5 years because this just isn’t the right fit. We have the same car, just a different color and of course, everything is a competition.

It’s a race to and from the city to work and back. Sometimes to and from the suburbs. It matters not, though, because it’s all just miles upon hours just roasting in a concrete vacuum that literally and figuratively sucks the life out of you while you grow to hate thy neighbor because they just cut you off on your morning commute and you both needed those two car lengths but you were distracted by the slew of emails and didn’t quite stay close enough to that bumper in front of you. They snuck in and now your mood is altered.

You work all day but you don’t remember much about it. At 5 pm, you hop in the car back to the concrete vacuum because one hour in the morning wasn’t enough.  You may take a moment to think about “what else is out there” but the honking and expletives quickly shake you from that.

You return home to reflect on what you did that day, searching for something, anything tangible, that you produced but there is nothing. You go to bed early because you have to do it all over again tomorrow. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

What happened to small town America? What happened to the producers? The foundations of a quality life? I once heard that you don’t add value unless you mine it, manufacture it, or grow it. Sure, we do other things too, like provide services, but for what? What is our purpose? Some people love their job, but most either love their job or just love the fruits of their labors. I could make this immensely political, but I’ll refrain.

Mostly I want to know what happened to the longevity of a life? Establishing roots? Where is the love of community? How can we help our neighbor if we never meet them? We never meet them because we’re never home. We work hard to afford a home and things we never get to enjoy because we’re too busy earning. What are we teaching our children if we spend two hours with them before bed? How much of us is passed off to them if we’re not around? What IS our purpose? What do we want to leave behind?

If you love your city life, I suggest staying here. Don’t leave. Don’t go breathe. Don’t drive on a dirt road where the only thing that slows you down is your own fear. Because when you get back, you won’t know what to do and you’ll feel the choke hold of the rat race that is inescapable and leaves you wondering everyday, ‘What is different about today?’

These days, on the off-chance that I get to cruise on the expressway upwards of 80 mph, it’s freeing. It’s a brief escape and I can almost feel free if I close my eyes for just a couple of seconds…just before I hit the I-285 merge and it starts all over again. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Last year, I didn’t want to be 25. 24 had been so great to me and full of so much wonderfulness, I didn’t want it to end. I am blessed enough to say that this journey we call life has once again been good to me as the clock ticks on to 26.

With the exception of my highlight tint though, life doesn’t look much like it did at 25. We don’t take much time to reflect on changes on a daily basis, but I try to make a point of it at least on a birthday. Each year we grow, we pick up new traits and let others fizzle off…so here are a few of my takeaways from the last year of ‘development’.

13. If you can’t tone it, tan it.
12. You can evade law enforcement with jelly beans. And jokes. Additionally, begging.
11. People aren’t walking around this earth judging each other as much as we think they are. Except babies. They judge everything.
10. South Georgia is undeniably where you will find your Grace.
9. We are torn down by hardships to a rawness so that we can rebuild differently because we are on the wrong path.
8. People can’t read your mind. If you want something, you have to tell them so. If you need help, you have to tell them that too.
7. People will tolerate your hard-headed stubbornness if you’re consistent and principled. They just want to know what to expect.
6. The more you try to mold your life, the more fluid it will become.
5. We are almost never sure about what we do want, but always sure about what we don’t want.
4. Indecision is the worst decision.
3. We continue to grow when we allow ourselves to do so. We can’t resist everything…new opportunities, different kinds of people, different ways of thinking…we will never be right about everything – at least not all at the same time.
2. You can’t let fear control you. You have to leave your comfort zone and go into the unknown with a firm reliance on faith. Often. If it’s both terrifying and wonderful, you should absolutely do it.
1. When you take a leap of faith, you’re forced to trust more in The Lord, in others, and surprisingly, yourself. That’s growth.

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” –Oscar Wilde