I just won an election even though I wasn’t running for office. Not really, anyway. In Washington State, if two people volunteer to be Precinct Committee Officer, or PCO, in the same precinct (a job that mostly means handing out literature for your party) the county puts your names on the ballot and lets the neighborhood decide. I signed up to be a PCO, and someone else signed up, too. So, suddenly I had an opponent and my name would be on the ballot.
Winning is nice, but what matters for this newsletter (and other men) is that the job required me to do something I normally avoid. The job is picking up literature from the 46th District Democrats, opening an app for political canvassers called MiniVAN, and knocking on over 200 doors in my own precinct.
As I have written in these pages, I have not been a guy who reaches out. If you’d asked me a year ago whether I was good at connection, I’d have said probably no in a way that almost dared you to keep talking about it. One reason I started this newsletter is that I have worked to change that, and I’m documenting the success of it here. I’m also, if I’m honest, kind of cynical about people in general. I’ve seen the worst of humanity in my previous career as a journalist. I size up a car, a lawn, a bumper sticker, a person’s zipcode, and I’ve already decided something. It’s a terrible habit, and it’s only by working through my aversion to connection that I’ve discovered how dumb it is. Not to mention frequently leading to entirely wrong conclusions.
The PCO job forced me to cut the shit. A PCO’s role is to hand out material for candidates the district endorsed (not necessarily candidates I’d have picked myself, btw) and to do it straight, without editorializing on someone’s porch. So, I’d ring the bell and hope to god nobody came to the door so I could leave my door hanger, punch the button in the app, and walk away. But for a huge chunk of the neighborhood, people did come to the door. And I would talk with them. Actually, I mostly listened. When I explained my role, I’d also mention: hey, I’m not actually on this endorsement card, but my name’s on your ballot…there’s this quirk in state election law…and often, they’d want to talk.
That surprised me. Nobody in my neighborhood wants people to knock on their doors. You see it all over neighborhood social platforms, in neighborhood text threads, and many, many “no soliciting” signs. But people would see me standing there and know right away I’m not Amazon or the postal carrier.
Sixty-some conversations in, I learned a lot about my own neighborhood. It’s funny, I walk this neighborhood with my dog every day. I run through it every day. But I didn’t know it the same way until I had a reason to stop at each house instead of passing by.
I met the retiree with dilapidated porch steps who’s worried she’ll lose her home if property taxes keep going up, the immigrant who was afraid I was coming to check his legal status, the older guy who was just lonely and wanted to talk about anything and everything. I didn’t know these people existed, and now I know who they are and maybe they voted for me for this volunteer gig they probably don’t truly understand. I’m glad I met them and that I shared the experience with my kids over dinner.
There’s a version of male loneliness the manosphere is very happy to diagnose and then “solve” with some version of self-reliance. “Toughen up. Need less. Handle it alone. Be a man.”
None of that would have gotten me 60 conversations on 60 porches. The job forced the opposite: show up, ask, listen, come back tomorrow and do it again. Connect before anything else was possible. Care enough to do the work honestly, even for candidates I didn’t pick. Commit to finishing the 200 doors, not just the easy ones. Oh, sure, I got yelled at by a couple of people to “get the fuck off my porch.” I think it’s better to experience those people than to be those kinds of people, which is the road I used to be on.
Gratifying was beating my opponent 52-33. Especially because two years ago, this same scenario happened where we both volunteered and faced one another on the ballot. And I lost by three votes! I wasn’t engaged, and didn’t even turn in my own primary ballot. I just figured I was volunteering and “who cares?”
Well, I cared that my daughters saw their dad’s name on the ballot. And this time I decided rather than just do nothing, I would face my longstanding habits and go do the thing. And I won. Handily.
I wouldn’t say I’m a changed man. I still have the same tendencies. But winning this “election” is a clear demonstration to me (and hopefully others) that taking a small step out of your comfort zone and confronting what you know are not helpful ways of going through the world do lead to tangible results.
In two years, I may have to do this again if I want to be a PCO. And I bet I meet more people. I actually hope to meet the 33 who didn’t vote for me. Not to convince them to vote for me, but for the simple fact it could be instructive.