Keeping Both Feet on the Ground

It's important to stay grounded while we're running at warp speed during the campaign.

Along the way, I've been collecting insights like my mother used to collect Delft figurines: some are precious and still others sit on the back of the shelf. And occasionally, the "ordinary" deserves another look.

The first lesson I've learned is so simple you may chuckle. Nonetheless, like the commonplace blue-and-white porcelain Dutch shoe on my mom's display, it's important to dust it off every now and then and re-examine:

People are just people, no matter their stature in life.

The other morning we were in Santa Barbara meeting participants of a high-powered business symposium. Trying hard to look chipper in my red suit after just a few hours of sleep, I greeted perhaps hundreds of men and women, each of whom are community pillars in their own right.

At one point, a nearby construction worker approached me. "Do you know who that was," he asked, referring to a woman who had just taken our campaign card.

"No," I responded. "Who?"

"That was the mayor of Santa Barbara!" he replied. "The mayor!"

Maybe I should have been ga-ga. After all, Helene Schneider recently won a tough fight in the political arena herself. But I wasn't. Instead, her tireless mayoral campaign made me somehow connected, even if she does have different political views.

We've met so many people since January that I've lost count. But I haven't lost track of their human-ness. I've learned that if you have just a minute to connect, it is easy to find common ground. Maybe it's kids. Or sports. Or, heaven forbid, politics.

I find that reassuring, whether the person in front of me is chairman of a huge bank or a father just looking for work.

It wasn't always that way for me. Once, in my early 20s, I had a chance to meet movie star Robert Redford. I was casual, almost cocky, in my preparation for the encounter. Then, when the Big Moment came, I was utterly speechless. I faltered around, groping for a few pithy words, but nothing came out.

I was horrified, and still recall the meeting with a shudder.

Fortunately, that was a long time ago.

Now, I no longer have stars in my eyes. And the best way to remain on the ground is to come home after a day of campaigning and hug my kids.

There's simply nothing in the universe that can replace their "yipeee" when we walk in the front door. They don't ask how many voters we talked to, who we sat with at dinner or what the news media is writing.

Rather, they're ready to color or practice baseball or read a book.


The other night, I pulled one of our family favorites off the shelf. To the boys, Horton, the portly elephant protecting the tiny citizens of Who-ville in Dr. Seuss' "Horton Hears A Who," is just a funny character with a giant heart. But the deeper meaning, so eloquently stated by the Mayor of Who-ville, is not to be missed:

"This," cried the Mayor, "is your town's darkest hour!
The time for all Whos who have blood that is red
To come to the aid of their country," he said.
"We've GOT to make noises in greater amount!
So open your mouth, lad! For every voice counts!"

Sometimes, it truly is the least among us who make the biggest impact.