The First Ten Things I’ve Learned Since Leaving Congress
What politics, loss, and distance taught me about myself, power, and being human
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People often ask me what I’ve learned since leaving Congress. They usually mean politically — what I think about parties now, about Trump, about institutions, about where the country is headed. But the real lessons haven’t been about ideology. They’ve been quieter, harder, and more personal. They’re about myself. About Congress. About humanity. And about what it means to live a good life after the lights dim and the applause fades.
Here are the first ten.
First: views can — and should — change.
We are stuck in this toxic idea that changing your mind is weakness. That once you stake out a position, moving from it means you were lying before or are weak now. The truth is the opposite. Weakness is the inability to see things differently despite evidence, experience, and reflection. Growth requires motion. Moral clarity is not rigidity; it’s the courage to adjust when reality demands it.
Second: don’t let the crowd pressure you — make it a moral decision.
It is extremely tempting to say and do the things that generate praise. Applause is intoxicating. It scratches a very real human itch to belong and be affirmed. But it’s hollow. Decisions rooted in crowd approval evaporate the moment the crowd moves on. Moral decisions endure, even when they cost you.
Third: humans are complicated — and very gullible.
We are emotional creatures. We are moved by stories, symbols, fear, hope, and belonging. That’s not inherently bad. But it becomes dangerous when we let our emotions drag our intellect into justifying something we would otherwise know is wrong. When the argument feels good, the mind can be recruited to defend the indefensible. That’s how good people talk themselves into bad outcomes.
Fourth: we have to be self-critical of our own side.
I often use an analogy about weird billionaires. Imagine life as a highway. When you drift off course, rumble strips are there to wake you up. If they don’t, you drift further, until you crash. Billionaires crash when no one is willing to say, “Hey — that duck on your head looks ridiculous,” or “Those orange pants don’t go with that green top.” Everyone tells them they’re geniuses, so they believe it.
Politics works the same way. Every movement, every ideology, every system is flawed. Always. If our only competition is proving our side is always right, we remove the rumble strips. Self-criticism isn’t betrayal. It’s strength. It’s how you avoid the crash.
Fifth: the world is about more than you — including the people closest to you.
This one is ironic for me. People look at a life of service and assume I understood this instinctively. And in some ways, I did. But I had a blind spot. I could fight dragons all day, come home exhausted, and lick my wounds — without realizing that fighting also means fighting for the people closest to you first. That realization came after I left office. It’s a lesson I’m still internalizing.
Sixth: no politician should be a hero.
Every politician is a flawed human being. Exactly as the founders assumed. If flawless people existed, a dictatorship would work perfectly. But they don’t — and it won’t. Elevating politicians to god-status guarantees disappointment and invites abuse of power. Demand principles. Demand accountability. But don’t worship.
Seventh: doing the right thing should be easy — but it’s excruciating.
At some point in politics — and in life — you will stand alone. That loneliness is not evidence you’re wrong. Your mind will try to convince you it is. But often, you’re alone because the stand you’re taking is simply too hard for others to take with you. Difficulty is not a moral signal — but it often accompanies moral courage.
Eighth: you don’t need to be a martyr.
Fighting for a good cause matters. Persuasion matters. Building coalitions matters. But you do not need to destroy your own life to prove sincerity. Take care of yourself. Burnout helps no one. Survival is not cowardice; it’s strategy.
Ninth: the other side is usually well-intentioned — even when they’re wrong.
This one is hard for me right now. I’ve come to see that Democrats and the left care deeply about people and the Constitution — more than I once believed, and frankly more than the GOP does at this moment. What’s harder is extending that same grace to the right. I don’t think they’re good right now. But I do think they believe they are. And if we want to reach anyone, we have to engage through that lens — without surrendering truth.
Tenth: embrace your current life.
I loved college. I loved pilot training. I loved active duty. And then I developed a poisonous habit: believing that whatever came before was better. Even in Congress, I was looking backward. The truth is every season is hard. Every season has challenges. And every season will someday be missed. Squeeze everything you can out of now. I don’t miss Congress — but I do wish I had wasted less time while I was there.
Leaving office didn’t make me wiser overnight. It made me quieter. More reflective. More aware of how fragile institutions are — and how resilient people can be when they choose humility over certainty.
I’m still learning. These are just the first ten.
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