The Drumbeat of Service

How a life of service led me to the moral center of American politics.

Service as Ritual

Service was an obvious ritual of happenstance. It was, and still is, seeing someone in need of help or a thing that must be done, and stepping in. Stepping up. I have pushed enough disabled cars with my hands and legs to fill a small parking lot. I have waded into water up to my waist to unplug a clogged storm drain more than once, relieving the flooding of an apartment complex or a busy street. On a couple of occasions, I stood in a busy intersection or road and directed traffic around an accident after checking on everyone and making sure someone had called for first responders.

And then I turned 18, left the dusty streets of Las Vegas with two bags and 48 hour long bus ride to begin finding my way, my calling, in a world that needed helpers and problem-solvers.

The Drumbeat Begins

The infamous date of 9/11 would occur just days before my 20th birthday. I was far away from the events that happened, and I felt the weight of the world tugging at me in ways I could not process. It is stunning, in retrospect, that it would be another 16 years of working through retail jobs, scraping by, and pursuing my degrees before I would finally make professional progress toward that drumbeat calling.

Listening to the call is a strange thing for me. The call comes with the impact of events. This is why I’ve always thought of it as a drumbeat. It is a beat that is louder and faster with each passing year, and it has gotten much louder since I have found myself so close to the nation’s capital.

Drawn Toward the Capital

D.C. has gravity. I’ve said this many times since I began my public service career. It draws people towards it. It is the place where things happen. When I go into D.C., I don’t just hear the drumbeat call. I can feel it. Deep in my chest. The curvature of my career has brought me into a privileged position where I visit the city at least once a month to work with fellow public servants in our duties to protect and support the people of this nation.

But I can feel the earthshaking vibrato and deafening crescendo of the drums, still calling me.

The First Steward’s Circle

Stewardship, as a political concept, rather than religious or ecological, came to me during my studies in the mid-2000s. It was during that time that I called together my first Steward’s Circle. We discussed all that was going right, wrong, and weird with the world. I invited peers and friends of a generation older than me. A wise man, who had been a student of history, spoke of how he was a life-long Republican, but that the party was leaving him, and where it was going was scary. Young peers talked about how the best improvements they had seen offered by Democrats were maintaining the status quo. Everyone agreed back then that there was little nuance to the choices in the voting booth. Much like standing in a rural grocery store, you may only choose between what little appears on the shelves. And politics in America were shelves found wanting.

Nothing much came from that early work. Neither I nor my peers and friends had the skills, resources, and urgency to push too hard. There was a period of stability, and we felt comfortable in our familiar discomforts in the world.

The Call Grows Louder

This time is different. The world has changed again, and my place in it seems complicated but fortuitous. The call is stronger than ever, and the demand for something more than what is on offer is undeniable. As Republicans make excuses and lie to lay cover for a lawless authoritarian regime, Democrats continue to offer little more than a pause in the slide to oblivion. They mobilize the same tired talking points and the same retirees who failed to get the memo. Stewardship can offer something else.

Marching On

This weekend, I will be in D.C., around 2,000 feet from where the back hoes were tearing down the walls of the people’s house. I will be there with others: public servants, military veterans, and teachers. We all have felt the call, whether it is a beckoning whisper, the clarion ring of a bell, or the endless rumble of the drums. We will be learning about ourselves and how we fit into this tattered and torn political landscape. I am hopeful that I will learn a great deal and meet helpful, interested people. I don’t know what the final answer is for where Stewardship and I will be most effective. But I do know this:

I’ll continue to march in service to the beat of a different drum.

I hope you will join me.