Not good. GREAT.

Okay. Back for the very first time. It's been awhile since I posted but I have things to do. No, really. Been managing an Congressional campaign. Yep. Big timer *brushes shoulders off*

The campaign is going well. Really well. Out of the 7 campaigns that my organization is running, our campaign continues to lead the pack. Or come in a close second. My team is super legit and their work ethic cannot be matched. So, predictably, here comes my neurosis.

My work wife and I got into a fight because I was complaining about my numbers. "It's really annoying to listen to you complain about your numbers when you will hit them. You have the capacity. We do not. Shut up."

Well, predictably, this made me mad. Yes, I am nutty (and more than a little annoying). However, I am me because I don't accept what is "good." I always want to be GREAT. All caps GREAT. I'm that person who campaigns as a lifeblood. As a way to remember that this country is amazing and we are so incredibly blessed to be part of this nation. I have something to prove.

Sidenote: If I'm honest, I'm also mad that everyone else doesn't have my numbers. They have better universes, better lists, better organizers, easier turf. Why the H aren't they surpassing me? It's super frustrating to believe that you're the only one doing the work that has to be done.

So, yeah, we are putting up big numbers. And our race is neck & neck. Which means, I want it all. With a little over 60 days left, it isn't enough to simply have the best numbers for the campaign. I want the best numbers period. Ever. I want to be the model by which everyone else is trained. I want my opponent to be so thoroughly intimated and crushed by our ish that he will never again have the audacity to say that Tea Party values "are pretty much what my values are too."

I am going for glory.

Yes, I understand what wifey is saying. Yes, I am an annoying human being and yes, my ego is too big for most rooms. But let's be clear. I am running against myself. My greatest motivation is internal. Having better numbers than everyone else does not make my race any more likely to go be in my favor.

I don't want to be good. I want to be GREAT.

I mean is really boils down to one thing. That we will do everything - and do it better than everyone- and still not win. And that is the only metric that matters. If we don't win, then I have wasted 9 months of these organizer's lives, thousands of dollars and a lot, a lot or effort.

And that is my crazy. I've only ever worked in politics, so my skillset is specific and often intangible. I actually believe that I'm only as good as my last race. Who wants a racehorse that doesn't bring home glory?

Home, sick.

This is the fourth post I've started since deciding to blog. And I'm not sure this will be published. I feel like these things are a little (a lot) self-indulgent. In the back of my head and tip of my tongue, I think I'm too good to share my silliness this publicly. I would prefer to be naked in front of a crowd.

But I'm home, sick. And homesick. It probably isn't a coincidence that one follows that other. I was thinking about all the things Gram does whenever one of the kids is sick. The humidifier, the vapor rub, the tea, ice chips, the chicken soup that she pretends to have made but we all know she is too busy to actually make chicken soup from scratch, and so on. It's a whole production and I really enjoyed it (the attention, not the illness). In my nyquil-induced haze, I tried re-creating it. And ended up with a fever.

I think I would make a great fiction writer. Not that I am a good writer but I have this imagination and ability to believe my own stories to be true. It comes out most when I'm homesick. I forget the drama, the heartbreak, the betrayal and loneliness and suddenly remember that time Gram read stories from my favorite book while I was propped up on the couch eating chicken and stars, bundled in one of the thousands of homemade quilts that told me I was in a safe place. I take that one moment, break it up into pieces and re-assemble it into scenes that better fit my into the world I wish I grew up in. I don't think most of it actually happened except in my version of the story. The less fun stuff gets pushed aside and buried, only peeking it's head out occasionally when I'm not paying attention.

Gramp used to tell me to keep writing until I felt that I had said everything I came to say. I should've asked him what to do when I don't have anything to say but just want to share.

What's in a name?

It occurs to me that the name of this blog comes off as an emo-dripping one liner that makes folks hate skinny jeans and soy lattes. While I definitely have those moments, this should not be confused as one. Like most of my better stories, this comes from my Grandpa (Gramp).

My propensity for travel started young. One of my earliest childhood memories is on a flight from Oakland to Portland to visit my Grandparents. Probably stuck in my head because as an unaccompanied minor, I got a lot of attention from the crew. In high school, travel became a reward of sorts for suffering through the injustices of being a teenager. Or at least that was how I saw it. I was international and loving it.

Gramp booked my flights and I began noticing a pattern. I always had a window seat and it was always behind the wing of the plane. When I asked him about it, he told me that it was the safest place to be if anything happened above 10,000 ft in the air. At the time, I'm sure I rolled my eyes or something equally rude and teenager-ish. I was (am) a brat like that. It's hard to recognize love when it comes in such an unadulterated form.

For me, travelling is a way to escape and gain perspective. Having this blog seems like another way to do that, even when I'm stationary. I can have the objectivity being 10,000 ft in the air can give and still be completely safe, protected behind the wing of the interwebs.

Over the years, even as I book my own flights, I still sit in same space. I never checked to see if Gramp was right. Doesn't matter. For me, the safest place is a window seat behind the wing.

And so it begins...

You are probably wondering why I haven't created a blog before. Or maybe you're not. I don't really care, I'm gonna tell you anyway. I find these things to be self-indulgent and ridiculous. But then I realized that I have a lot of conversations with myself. And sometimes they are convos I wish others were a part of. I'm on Facebook (and can't really stand it) and addicted to Twitter but can't always say everything I want in 140 characters. And that takes us to this moment. My version of self-indulgent and ridiculous is bound to be a little better than other versions... or so my ego tells me.

So, I will blog. Not very often and probably not about things you really care about. I travel a lot. I meet some of the best people in the world. And I make complicated look, well, complicated. I'm inspired by folks who can be transparent and am hoping that this will take me a little closer to being who I want to be.

Don't read this if you are easily offended, don't believe that people can make change or are related to me. Only kidding about that last part... sorta. I'm only looking out for the real life relationship I hope we will be able to maintain once you find out that my last snarky comment towards you wasn't really meant to be snarky, just true.

Let's start this journey. And who knows? Maybe Bravo will finally give me my own reality TV show.