Jumping into a race
Last week I wrote about how I chose not to run for office in 2025.
Despite two open seats on my city council that offered the chance to serve my community, it wasn’t the right time. The time commitments of raising a 3-year old and the nature of the job - nights campaigning for city council whose meetings are held at night - meant that others were better suited for the opportunity.
It was a tiny bit disappointing but I had no real regret about it. Between my consulting work in political risk, where I wrote about everything from the future of the Democratic Party to the future of the global economy, and my startup making policy information more accessible, and volunteering on campaigns, I felt like I was sufficiently engaged in politics.
Maybe another race would open up one day, but I wasn’t counting on it and, to be honest, I didn’t need it to. Some people in this world have a compulsion to run and be in elected office. I had happily discovered that wasn’t me.
Which is why, in January of this year, I was very surprised when I saw one of the other parents from my son’s daycare group and she told me that my State Representative was running for the State Senate.
Putting my toes in the water
I got my PhD in International Relations, then worked in political risk with a focus on geopolitics and macroeconomics, worked on a statewide ballot campaign, and built a startup focused on state policy.
One of the reasons why I hadn’t gone for the council was that I knew there were others with better grasp on municipal policy than myself. Why put myself through a campaign if there’s a good chance I wasn’t really going to be the best option?
A state legislative seat was different. I had spent years working on the policies that our legislators vote on and I had no doubt I could present a good choice to the voters (whether I’m the best choice will be up to them).
But the other big concern was still there: time commitment.
My son was now 4 years old. A little easier in some respects, since potty training had gone relatively well. A little harder in others, since he now demands a book to be read at most meals after I made the mistake of doing it once.
A campaign or a job that took me away too much from him would be tough, both to manage and to justify.
I did what any good legislator should do when confronted with a difficult cost-benefit analysis. I asked as many people who had done it and as much research as possible.
Should I try to work here?
What past candidates said
People who have been in office or run for office are eager to talk about their experiences.
Overwhelmingly, they said that they were glad they did it. But they also said it was extremely difficult.
Your life is put on hold, your body is worn down, and you risk serious damage to your personal life if you let the campaign consume you. While they all said they didn’t regret it, it sounded less like people telling you about their wonderful vacation, and more like people who trekked Everest and lost a finger or two in the process.
And when I said that I had a small child to take care of, their reaction was like I wanted to climb Everest without oxygen or a winter jacket. Good luck with that.
Deciding to run
But one thing stuck with me in all the conversations. Something I had heard a while back.
A friend who worked in the US Senate had told me a story of a housing project with wraparound services that was going to be shut down because of budget cuts. He took it up, did what good staffers do in getting alignment with other offices, called a lot of people, and the cuts were reversed. He later got a drawing from a little girl there who said thank you for saving our home.
That’s why government matters.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be part of a budget process like that and I hope that I don’t have to be. But amid all the back and forth in my mind about how much time I had to knock on doors, or how I’d juggle daycare drop off with shaking hands outside a T stop, I kept coming back to the idea that this job matters.
It matters what our state does, the laws it passes and the money it spends. It matters that the person who’s our representative knows what they’re doing and is pushing for the right solution.
And it matters that voters have a real choice between candidates, especially in a state that in 2024 was deemed the least competitive legislature in the country. Since this is Massachusetts, whoever wins might be in that seat for the next 30 years and if they can’t do the job well, I’d be regretting not throwing my hat into the ring until my retirement.
Ballotpedia’s competitiveness index. Massachusetts is the least competitive.
I didn’t know if I could win. But I knew I could do the job. And I figured that it was my responsibility - if I said that I cared about democracy, and voter choice, and good government - to at least try.
My wife and I agreed on how we’d juggle childcare. She’s a doctor and works long hours so it’s still going to be difficult, but I have a plan to manage. I spoke with one of the investors in my company to make sure that he is okay with me diverting a lot of time from selling the product to selling policies. And then, the day after a massive blizzard, I logged onto the Office of Campaign and Political Finance to create an account.
With that, I was officially a candidate and the campaign began.
