Could've Been Worse

“Looks like you forgot to pack your goat feet today.”

-Eddy Ellis, everyday at practice for three years

Shit happens.

Last week I was backpacking in Central Oregon, trying to get away from work, cell service, people in general, and the impending doom of a record heatwave hitting most of the Pacific Northwest.

My partner and I planned for three nights in the woods with Remmy, taking our time over about 25 miles with plenty of time to stop for photos. The only tough elevation gain would be the first day but we’d be fresh, we’d get it out of the way, and we’d get some great views along the way.

Here’s the thing… neither one of us slept well and the sun at 6,000 feet, though not as hot as in the city, was so intense that we were nearing exhaustion about seven miles in.

And then, I fell.

We started heading down a steep section of the trail and we were taking it slow and trying to carefully pick our way to the last uphill section of the day. I put my right foot on what I thought was a solid piece of the trail but as I shifted my weight to that leg, my foot slipped. My right leg continued to slide down the hill causing my left knee to slam into a sharp rock.

I’ll spare you the pictures and real gory details but, suffice it to say, my knee was split open pretty bad. I sat down on the trail, my back against the hill I just slid down, and watched blood trickle down my shin.

My partner, having been through several crises with parents and family members, immediately put pressure on it and calmly tried to figure out a more sustainable way to stop the bleeding.

She found some gauze and rigged a tourniquet and the bleeding stopped.

Now the conversation turned to what do we do next?

Having seen the cut and knowing how bad it was bleeding, I knew the right answer.

But my pride wanted me to tape it up, grab some Advil, slug some water, and walk back to the trailhead.

Then I tried to shift my weight by bending my knee a little and the cut started bleeding.

Yeah, I said, call 911.

Search and Rescue showed up a couple hours later, my partner making sure I wasn’t going into shock and keeping Remmy calm all the while. She’s pretty good in an emergency (the SAR guys all said so when they showed up).

They loaded me onto the helicopter and flew me to the hospital while my partner and Remmy hiked back with the rest of the SAR crew.

Luckily, I got a few bangers before they took me away— although I wish they would’ve let me take my camera on the helicopter because we took off right as the sun was setting.

In the end, I had a minuscule tear in one of my tendons but was otherwise fine. Eleven stitches and some pain killers later, I was released and we headed back home. The most damage done was to my pride. It was the first hike of the season, I underestimated the trail, and overestimated my abilities. I also feel bad for Remmy and my partner who didn’t get to have a fun weekend and had to hike out in the dark after being completely exhausted from the walk in.

Everything will heal and I’ll be back on the trail soon enough.

Keep your feet moving

Hope

I remember sitting in my room on May 2, 2011, talking to my parents during our weekly phone conversations.

I was three weeks away from graduation, three months from starting Basic Officer's Leadership Course, and three years from my first and, luckily, only deployment.

It had been a boring weekend: studying for finals, making final preparations for the summer, a few beers with friends, nothing unusual or noteworthy.

It was around 11 PM in New York, a light breeze was blowing through the halls cooling what had been a warm but not sweltering day.

My parents were talking about their flight into Newark, where they were staying in Highland Falls, which car they'd rented, and how excited they were to be at graduation. We went over when and where the commissioning ceremony was going to be, who'd be invited, what they should bring, what they should wear, all the things parents like to talk about when they're trying to hide their excitement.

As I was explaining when and where I would meet them after the ceremony was over, an email hit my inbox. I stopped mid-sentence to read it: "President to Make an Announcement on National Security Matter".

"Turn on the news," I told my parents, "the President is about to make an announcement."

I hung up the phone and listened as President Obama announced that Osama bin Laden had been killed.

A loud, continuous cheer could be heard all over campus. Videos of our celebrations hit Facebook almost instantly. A man who'd been "Enemy Number One" for almost half our lives was no longer a threat.

Naively, I thought the war in Afghanistan was over.

I assumed, with the leader of our enemies dead, we would bring everyone home, and that I'd missed my chance to contribute.

Three years later, I boarded a plane in Kuwait headed to Bagram Airfield. For six months I sat behind a desk, resourced missions, and planned the logistics for our flight back.

As our battalion left, a new one came to take our place.

Soon after, a different battalion replaced them.

The wheel kept spinning, service members kept dying, and no one could really say what we were doing there.

For two thirds of my life (my entire adult life), we've been fighting in Afghanistan, most of which was fought after bin Laden was killed. Every six months, generals and politicians would proclaim we'd turned a corner, that we were winning, and soon we could bring everyone home.

And for two thirds of my life, it was all bull shit.

But today, there's a glimmer of hope: the Taliban have signed a preliminary peace deal.

I'm hopeful, though not optimistic, that now we can finally start the process of leaving Afghanistan and start the healing process for so many who need it.

I'm hopeful that we'll stop seeing stories about service members killed in Afghanistan.

I'm hopeful that I won't lose anymore friends for nothing.

Maybe it’s naiveté.

Maybe this is all for show and nothing of substance or worth will come from it.

But I’m still hopeful.

Keep Your Feet Moving

Moving... Without Moving

There’s a huge appeal to working for yourself and trying to make your own money, there’s a risk that makes it seem romantic in a lot of ways. Add to that the seductive nature of the road and traveling and you have yourself a Steinbeck or Kerouac novel on your hands.

What’s often forgotten— or in my case completely ignored because of hubris— is how hard it is to actually make money as a freelancer. Emailing pitches, writing articles and trying to get them published, practically begging people to buy your photos (or t-shirts, of which there are still plenty left), and just trying to get your name out there as a quality writer and photographer.

From August to November, I was living almost carefree, driving everywhere, interviewing people, writing stories on events, taking photos in national parks, participating in veteran-oriented programs to later write a story, and generally feeling like I could and would do that forever.

But then, the stories didn’t get published, the photos took longer to sell, and gas money started to run low.

I’m not complaining; I know that’s how the business works and that it takes a while to get established and editors are always leery of new writers with a relatively unproven record. Hell, if I were in their shoes, I’d send most pitches to the spam folder.

I guess, my hubris got the better of me. “I can make a living doing this, look at how great of a writer I am, look at the photos I take, look at the life I’m living. Everyone should want to read the stories I write.”

It’s been a humbling experience to be sure.

For now, I’m working part-time gigs cleaning stalls at a horse ranch, throwing trees into a chipper, and any other work I can find. I’m extremely appreciative of everyone who’s given me the opportunity to work for them.

In some ways, it’s been a blessing. I’ve had the opportunity to research new ways to continue doing what I love while making money at the same time, I’ve been able to spend more time with my niece and nephew, and I’ve been able to work with some truly generous people. Plus there’s something therapeutic about working outside and smelling like horse piss at the end of the day.

Recently, I’ve started reaching out to local business to see if they are in need of new photos for their website, offices, or dining areas, offered to help a couple people set up Instagram accounts to help grow their business a little and gain credibility within the community, and have essentially tried to start building a local reputation so I can expand as I get more established.

It’s definitely not going the way I planned—although when has life ever gone the way any of us planned— but I am still happy with my decision to break away from the normal 9-5 cubicle/desk jobs and do what I love for a living.

So even though I’m at somewhat of a stand still, I’m making the best of the situation and still chasing my dream and trying to make it work the best I can.

In the words of Jimmy Dugan from A League of Their Own, “it’s supposed to be hard. The hard is what makes it great.”

Don’t worry about me, I’ll figure it out.

Keep Your Feet Moving

As an aside, if you’re in the Oregon or Washington areas and are in need of some photos, feel free to shoot me a message.

Sitting

It’s official everyone: the better, cooler weather is finally here.

As we speak, I’m sitting in front of a wood burning stove, listening to the New Mexico wind howl outside, while enjoying a hot cop of coffee.

It has been a busy couple of weeks and it doesn’t look like I’ll be any less busy in the next two or three.

The relaunch of my site has gone a lot better than I thought (thank you to those that purchased prints) and I’m finding myself more and more excited to take photos. Even if they aren’t any good or they don’t turn out the way I want, the process is what excites me the most. Figuring out a different angle, or trying a different lens, all of it, gives me a sense of creative accomplishment.

Last week I spent a few days on a story, following a Gulf War veteran as he ran his business, practiced yoga, and tried to figure out life after the military.

Being the type that likes to immerse myself in the story, I went with him to Bikram yoga.

For those unfamiliar, several years ago a few yoga instructors and practitioners became bored with the humdrum, typical yoga practice at a comfortable temperature. They decided what was missing was a sauna so they moved their practice into studios at temperatures above 100 degrees.

Now you could spend an hour stretching and meditating while sweating like you were in the middle of Death Valley in July.

That still wasn’t enough for some people.

One yogi, thinking about how to torture himself and his students, decided, “we should turn up the heat and do this for 90 minutes.”

And thus Bikram yoga was born.

Bikram, of course, is Hindi for “sadistic asshole” and gives practitioners a sense of survival once their session is over.

A few days later I drove to the Crossed Arrows Ranch in Santa Fe, NM where I’m participating in a horse therapy program for veterans (again for a story) and have thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

I’ve seen a lot of sunsets in a lot of different places— India, New Zealand, Thailand, Montana, etc.— but the New Mexico sunset is definitely in my top three. The way the colors of the tired sun bounce off the crags are so vivid it’s almost like you’re on a different planet.

I was watching one of these sunsets a couple days ago when I remembered a thought I had about a year ago that wouldn’t go away.

We never just sit anymore.

The fall has typically been the time of year when musicians and bands release new albums or new singles. It’s almost hard to keep up with and listen to all the new music coming out.

But when was the last time you just sat and listened to a new album? Not as background music as you drive to work or do the dishes or workout at the gym. Just turned up the volume, sat in a chair, and soaked in the notes and the lyrics.

I’m willing to bet most of my generation hasn’t done that since we were kids, sitting in the back seat on a long road trip with a borrowed Discman. That used to be one of the only form of entertainment we had any control over. Older siblings or parents could take over the TV remote, the computer made those weird sounds while the internet took twenty minutes to boot up.

In the back seat though, the bulky headphones attached to the CD player so only you could hear, you controlled everything. You let the music surround you and let the lyrics consume you.

But now, there’s always a purpose to our music. We force it to have a function rather than just enjoying it for its own merits.

Maybe we’re all just getting older and busier or maybe technology has created an expectation that we don’t waste time just sitting (unless we’re watching Netflix). Maybe we don’t sit and watch the sunset anymore because we can just go on Instagram and see sunsets from around the world.

It seems that’s what a lot of us are craving with the popularity of meditation and mindfulness exercises: just a few minutes to sit and be with no distractions. Although, even that has been streamlined and made more efficient with “walking meditation” and mindfulness you can practice while driving.

Perhaps, it’s time we all find an album, turn up the volume, and just sit and listen.

Keep your feet moving

Tired

I hate going to memorials.

The first one I attended to honor a soldier was in the fall of 2007. The academic year was maybe two weeks old, the seniors had just gotten back from celebrating Ring weekend, and we had all formed up for recall formation.

After we were dismissed, our TAC officer gathered us all together and told us our company-mate's brother had been killed in Afghanistan.

Still new to even the idea of the military, most of the freshman-- myself included-- didn't fully understand, didn't fully grasp the concept of how that would affect those around us. I later learned the seniors were a very close-knit group and had spent a significant amount of time with the brothers.

Heads dropped.

Tears fell.
Pride swelled.

Later in the week, the memorial service was held at the cadet chapel. The entire company climbed the granite stair cases to the top of the hill, tried not to sweat too much, tried not to breathe to heavy.

We all shuffled in to the high-arched church, the granite floors and walls echoing the slightest whisper, the wooden pews creaking as we sat down, the pipes from the organ reflecting the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows.

Silence.

On cue, the organ player started a hymn I couldn't recognize, prompting the priest to walk toward the apse. The family walked behind a flag-covered coffin, heads held high as tears streamed down their cheeks.

I don't remember the hymns we sang, the prayers that were recited, or the things that were said. I do remember the look on my company-mate's face as he walked with his arm around his now widowed sister-in-law.

I remember the look in her eyes, an odd mix of pain, sadness, doubt, and pride. In that look I was struck with a sense of sadness and foreboding. To that point, death in combat had only been a vague notion, something about which I was aware but something I had never experienced the effects first-hand.

I never went back to the chapel.

A few years later and a couple months from getting out of the Army, my supervisor sent me an email saying she needed to see me and my NCOs. She told us there'd been a death in the Battalion and we needed to inform the companies there would be a memorial service in the next couple of days. By this point I'd deployed, been to several more memorial services, seen countless faces of soldiers, marines, sailors, and airmen on TV, lost classmates.

Lost friends.

My first thought was, well, that's going to push back the training meeting and I won't be going home as early as I'd hoped that day. I started thinking of all the things I needed to do in order make the meeting happen and ensure that it would as efficient as possible.

I did what was needed to do my job, I sat through the service with half-attention at best, and exited as quickly and inconspicuously as my manners would allow. After the meeting, I drove home, drank beer, and watched Netflix until I fell asleep.

I felt nothing.

This past Memorial Day, I heard some rumors that the National Park Service was considering a memorial on the Mall for the Global War on Terror.

A memorial for the Global War on Terror? We're still fighting the Global War on Terror. It's been over 7,000 days since we first invaded Afghanistan; we've lost 6,954 service members. I realize that's a relatively small number when compared to the losses in Vietnam, Korea, the World Wars, etc. but we're still losing service members.

As odd as it sounds, talk of this memorial led me to think of John Kerry. The 2004 Presidential Election brought questions of his military record, his actions after he returned home from Vietnam, and his loyalty to the country.

As an avid Fox News viewer growing up, I thought Kerry a traitor or, at best, soft on national defense and security. I didn't trust him as a candidate, I was wary of him as Secretary of State, and, until a few months ago, I couldn't understand why he would testify before Congress to end the Vietnam War at a time when it would mean service members died in vain.

Now, I would've been sitting next to him.

We're still in Afghanistan, still losing service members, and lending credibility to the idea that history doesn't repeat itself but it does rhyme.

The question is: why?

Why are we still in Afghanistan?

Why is increasing air attacks the best way to win?

Why can't anyone at the Pentagon define victory?

Why are we still losing men and women in uniform?

These questions were the essence of Kerry's mission to end the Vietnam War.

I'm tired of going to memorials.

I'm tired of seeing them on TV.

I'm tired.

Keep your feet moving

The Eleventh

I hate Veteran's Day.

Next to Pumpkin Spice Latte day at Starbucks, it's my least favorite day of the year -- especially in the age of social media.

As usual, I feel the need to remind everyone that I don't speak for all veterans nor do I hate veterans or America, so save the hate mail for another day.

The original holiday, Armistice Day, was meant to commemorate the ending of the First World War in1918. The idea was to remind people of the destruction and devastation that can result when cooler heads don't prevail, when we lose touch with our humanity.

World War I was based upon petulant desires for power and glory, to assert dominance upon the most influential and globally powerful continent at the time. Europe lost nearly an entire generation of young men over monarchical chess and the death of Franz Ferdinand.

The pride and hubris of the few ruling elite killed millions.

November 11 was meant to celebrate peace and warn against diplomatic failures.

In 1954, Congress changed the name of Armistice Day to Veterans Day to honor the men and women who served during the bloodiest wars of the 20th Century.

In the subsequent decades, it was simply a day to be at home with loved ones and remember those who served, which happened to be a relatively large portion of the population.

After 9/11, Veteran's Day took a new form, became something more than just a day to remember those who serve or have served. Now it has become more than just a day, more than just a tribute to those who've worn the uniform for their country. It's become a pseudo religious observance with those who disagree with veterans becoming heretics. Veterans have become something more than just citizens who chose to serve, they've become infallible messiahs. Veterans Service Organizations have become Pharisees condemning those who give anything less than their full-throated support.

I hate it.

Maybe I just hate attention or maybe I just dislike the pomp and ceremony. Maybe I've just become too cynical from serving with arrogant, entitled members of society. Maybe I'm tired from being told I should feel disrespected by the actions of others. Maybe I'm just tired of being thanked for my service when I'm trying to go about my business and be left the fuck alone.

I know I'm tired of veterans taking advantage of this new-found social status; a social status that has largely become based upon pity. It's based upon people feeling guilty or sad for vets who can't find a job or don't get paid enough to support their family.  It's based upon a deceptive statistic of 22 veterans committing suicide every day.

I'm tired of the idea that veterans are something more than sovereign citizens.

In his book, Tribe, Sebastian Junger talks about the feeling of separation from civilian society or the lack of community and camaraderie. There's a lack of people who understand what vets have been through, the things they've experienced. There's a certain disconnect, veterans don't feel like a normal member of society.

Elevating them to a status above civilians, isn't helping.

The suicide rate among veterans is largely attributed to this idea that veterans feel isolated, that they feel disparate from the rest of society. During the last few years of World War II and the years following its end, the suicide rate among veterans and active military was nearly half what it is today. Does that mean WWII vets were twice as appreciated or felt twice as connected to civilians?

I understand why veterans have been elevated; in the pendulum of societal norms, it's more or less an overcorrection for the Vietnam War. Service members have gone from "baby killers" to "heroes."

I get it, but heroes is a little strong.

There are some who are true heroes, those who saved the lives of countless team members and sacrificed themselves so their brothers and sisters in arms could continue the mission. But not all veterans are heroes just like heroes are not all veterans.

Veterans are actually one of the most diverse groups of people, nearly every demographic being represented in proportional numbers to the American population at large. With that diversity comes some bad eggs as was evidenced by the shooting in Texas last week.

In short, veterans are just people.

Their elevation doesn't help anyone, least of all vets.

If you want to thank a vet for their service, truly thank them, contribute to the political process, engage leaders to make meaningful changes for the whole. There's very little veterans truly need to be happy. We don't nee more programs or more money. Fix what's broken in the VA, fix the political discourse, fix child healthcare. Care for people and make this a country worth sacrificing for.

Don't feel sorry for vets, don't elevate vets into an elite class.

Treat them like the citizens they are.

Treat them like people.

Keep your feet moving

Zoom Out

First things first: today is November 5th, Guy Fawkes Day in England. Many of you may be saying the first line to the poem creatively named, The Fifth of November. But many still believe the tale as told by Hugo Weaving in V for Vendetta. The story he told was of an anarchist plotting to overthrow a dictatorial government by blowing up Parliament but was caught before he could ignite the gun powder barrels stored in the basement. Though parts of his story are correct there are a few things wrong.

First, Guy Fawkes was a provincial Englishman, part of a French-allied Catholic group and the exact opposite of an anarchist. The Gunpowder Plot of 1605 was an assassination attempt on James I so the Catholics could install a Catholic head of state. The consequential holiday is a result of Britain's victory over the oppression and tyranny of the Catholic church and their foreign entities, namely the Pope and the French.

In England, November 5th is remembered as Guy Fawkes day and bonfires were lit to symbolize the thwarted plot to blow up Parliament. In the colonies shortly before the American Revolution, it was known as Pope's Day and the Pope was hanged and burned in effigy as a celebration of victory over the tyranny of Catholicism.

So Anarchists, I understand your motives and political intentions, just make sure you have the story straight and your celebrating victory over Guy Fawkes, not Guy Fawkes himself.

Anyway…

As we've grown accustomed to since January 20, a lot happened in the news this week with several ongoing controversies and "scandals." This week felt as though we started sprinting a marathon and just never let off, just continually accelerated until Saturday.

Monday, two of the President's campaign managers were indicted for several crimes unrelated yet eerily close to the Trump campaign; Tuesday saw a madman in NYC bowl over people in his truck; Wednesday was met with a new tax reform plan introduced by the Republicans on Capitol Hill along with Chief of Staff John Kelly in hot water--again; Thursday was spent blasting the DNC and Hilary for "rigging" the 2016 Primary election; and Friday Bowe Bergdahl received to no prison time at his sentencing hearing and the military/veteran section of the internet lost their collective minds.

Is anyone else just exhausted?

I feel like I need a vacation to Vietnam or India just to get away from the news for a bit. Alas, the President is in Asia this week so I couldn't avoid the news if I wanted.

The Russia scandal has doubled since Monday with Conservative media outlets demanding the Clinton Campaign be investigated for the Uranium One and the Steele Dossier-- both of which have been litigated on cable news before.

To understand where the President gets the information for his Twitter storms and to understand where Conservative voters are coming from, I watch one Fox News show almost everyday.

Often, I can't watch the entire show. To say FNC has a hypocritical bias is to understate the problem in American "journalism." Lucky for you, I won't get into the biases, real or perceived.

There is an important element of the FNC political coverage that contributes to the overall narrative prevalent across all media outlets and the President's Twitter feed.

For the past three weeks, Hannity has been obsessed with the Uranium One deal, the Steele Dossier, and, of course, football players kneeling during the national anthem. Now he's been obsessed with other things, and I could spend several hours showing how hypocritical his coverage is with other stories, however, these stories have been influential enough to warrant a Congressional investigation by the House Intelligence Committee.

After watching the coverage on Fox, CNN, and in the traditional outlets (e.g. the New York Times, Washington Post, etc.), I realized something no one is really talking about but, in reality, we all should be talking about: Presidential candidates.

Sure there's been some talk about the DNC and Donna Brazille's Op-Ed, essentially a few contracts that made staffing decisions before Hilary was the true nominee for the party.

That’s not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the lesser-of-two-evils situations we seem to find ourselves in, election after election, candidate after candidate.

I've had many conversations with my dad about how the lesser of two evils is slowly killing the political system in the US. You know what the greatest evil is? I asked him on more than one occasion, the lesser of the two.

He would always reply, well there's only two people with a realistic chance to win, so you have to vote for one.

I hate it when he's right.

This past election cycle is probably the clearest example of why we need better candidates during the primaries. We don't want to end up with the lesser of two evils, we want the best person for the job. Why don't we demand better candidates, why won't we choose the better of two great candidates rather than the not-as-terrible of the mediocre/bad candidates?

During one of the four or five Republican primary debates, the now-President was asked which leg of the nuclear triad he most supported and which one needed the most development. From his answer it was clear he had no idea what the nuclear triad is nor did he understand its strategic importance to national security.

Why didn't one of the other candidates simply ask him? Why didn't one of them say, Donald I yield you twenty seconds of my time to define what the nuclear triad is. Why didn't we use intelligence and curiosity about policy, some sort of knowledge about the issues facing our country, as part of the elimination process? Why is it that Trump getting a "sick burn" on Rubio/Carson/Christie/ Cruz was the story in the media and not the fact that he couldn't answer a question about one of the most fucking important national security policies?

Because the fight is more interesting than the answer.

I would bring up a DNC primary debate, but let's be honest, no one remembers and no one cares. It was Hilary and the Democrats almost from day 1. Yes Bernie showed a little bit of promise in the early, more liberal states-- go figure-- but petered out. Most of the scandals and disqualifying attributes about Hilary came out during the General. The absolute last place you want scandals or controversies coming out.

The only thing that could have made it worse for Hilary during the General is if the FBI decided to re-open an investigation about her a week before the election… yeah I went there.

In terms of the DNC, none of the events after the convention really matter. It was prior to the convention that we really need to change. It wasn't the electoral college that handed the Democrats the loss in 2016, it was the Primaries.

The fact that Bernie Sanders-- who may very well be the love child of a benevolent Lenin and a young Einstein-- was arguably the most popular candidate on Facebook, says something about where Democratic politics have gone.

What really screwed the DNC was acceptance. They accepted that Hilary would be the nominee in 2016, they accepted that Bernie was just a paranoid Socialist with crazy ideas when he complained about an unfair process. They accepted a subpar candidate because of her perceived popularity and the truly ridiculous idea that Trump could win a Primary race, let alone the General.

Granted a lot of this is on us as a society. We ridicule the opposing side's ideas, debase the candidate of the opposite party, scoff at education and intellect, and belittle reasonable solutions to complex and nuanced problems.

We let politicians push us around with simplistic answers to questions a PhD candidate would have trouble answering.

We accept one line slogans and sound bites over a well-constructed, well-researched policy ideas.

We blame the acts of terrorists on immigration.

We blame the acts of a madman on guns.

We blame regulation for layoffs in the coal/auto/tech industry

We blame rich people for the plight of the poor.

We blame poor people for the national debt and deficit.

We blame Senators for their inability to get anything done and we blame the House for doing too much.

We blame former President's for a terrible economy and take credit for a soaring stock market.

We've lost the ability to understand that a difference of opinion doesn't mean a difference of principle.

We've forgotten that wanting to own guns isn't a mental disorder and wanting to put regulations on who gets those guns isn't a war on guns or gun owners.

We've forgotten how to tell the difference between a person who has a different idea from a person who will destroy America.

We've forgotten the world is a lot more complicated than a four word phrase or a three word slogan; a hashtag on a hat won't make anything great.

In short, we've accepted the idea that the lesser of two evils is and should be the norm when it comes to elections. Until 2016, most of us haven't had a difficult choice in the General election. In fact, the last time anyone had a difficult choice based on merit and not scandal or disagreement was 1960.

So Democrats, it wasn't the electoral college or James Comey that lost the election for you, it was the fact you accepted anything less than someone who truly represents who you are. Republicans, you may have won the West Wing, Senate, and House, but really look at the White House and ask yourself if you trust those employees, would you buy a car from Trump Jr. or a house from Jared Kushner.

My larger point in all this: we need to take a step back from the daily activities of the White House, the constant blame shifting back and forth, and really consider how we elect people, how we talk about the people we're thinking about electing, and the definition qualified.

Hilary, on paper, was one of the most qualified candidates we've had since Bush '41-- yes I can hear Dems rolling their eyes from here. She was a Senator from New York, ran the State Department, founded and ran the Clinton Foundation, and put Barack Obama through a very tough Primary in 2008.

Here's the problem: she isn't from New York originally, she was fairly incompetent at State, her foundation is riddled with scandal, and Obama was going to get nominated no matter how rough the Primary was. In terms of credibility, she failed the test.

But it was her turn.

Republicans, I point you to the Republican Primary debate question about the nuclear triad. Disqualified.

This isn't new.

We've consistently had the lesser of two evils since 1996.

It's time we demanded more from our candidates, demanded more from the Primary process, demanded more from each other in terms of political debate and the positions we hold.

It's time we demand more.

I remember talking to my XO as Primary season was starting to wind down and the General was about to start. Our relationship was one of professional ribbing-- with him calling me a dirty Oregon hippy and me calling him a nerdy Fox News contributor. Often we’d discuss the primary candidates of both parties and how none of them seemed to really inspire much confidence in their leadership abilities.

Unfortunately, he told me during one of these discussions, my grandmother was right: in a democracy, people get the government they deserve.

We deserve better.

Keep your feet moving