I am not much for celebrating birthdays, though I did enjoy it as a child. Most birthdays meant inviting Bob and Dave May over for dinner and eating chicken my mother had fried in Grandma Stone’s iron skillet. On my ninth birthday Bob and Dave gave me the model car pictured above, a 1959 Oldsmobile. It’s on a bookshelf in my office, along with a green 1960 Ford Galaxy, a red 1964 Ford Galaxy, and a yellow 1964 Thunderbird.

In a lot of ways I was a typical boy. I loved cars, erector sets and chemistry kits, and spent a good bit of every  August obsessed with praying mantises. We caught them, built generous sized cages, and fed them grasshoppers. We loved watching them eat the grasshoppers. One year we made the mistake of putting a male and female praying mantis in the same cage. The female ate the male while they were engaged in, shall we say, memorable activities not well understood by ten-year-old boys. That memory stayed with me. But I digress.

A lot of random anniversaries remain in my mind, locked there by the memory gods. My parents wedding anniversary was May 20. This year would have marked their 80th anniversary. They made it to 73 before Mom passed, and Dad six months later. Grandma Stone, my maternal grandmother, was born 139 years ago this coming May 28. She lived into her nineties, as did both of my parents.

Cathy, my former wife, reminded me this morning that today was her mother’s birthday. She would have been 95. She passed away last year, October 12 to be exact. I actually remembered it was her birthday first thing this morning, before Cathy told me. Today is also the anniversary of one of my “firsts” as Paula. I’m not telling you which one or what year. That’s private. Another is coming up in nine days.

I did my first TED Talk on November 11, 2017. I can’t believe it’s been almost nine years. The talk was released on December 19. I was speaking the next morning at a high school in Littleton, Colorado and watched the talk for the first time when it had fewer than 100 views. To date it has had over seven million views. There are still at least 100 views a day. Not long ago there were a couple of months when the algorithm gods were smiling and the talk was back up to 5,000 views a day. Go figure.

I graduated from high school on May 21. The girl I was in love with at the time had turned 18 the day before. Though I was crazy about her, she chose the other guy. I remember the summer they got married, but I do not remember the day.

Cathy and I got engaged on June 22, 1972. I asked her to marry me while we were standing in front of Jackson Christian Church in Massillon, Ohio. Not exactly a romantic spot. One of my closest friends was born in Boulder, Colorado six days later. I always think of my friends as being about my age. Most are much younger than I. I imagine that means something.

The woman I am happily dating now was born exactly 40 days before I graduated from high school, 21 days before I turned 18. That just seems weird. We first held hands when we were at a restaurant where I was eating a wedge salad and shepherd’s pie. Also weird. I remember the date of that too.

The Stone Canyon fire started on the afternoon of July 30, 2024. I was just returning from a run up Stone Canyon Road when it broke out. I was Mayor Pro Tem at the time and spent a good part of that day and the next at the fire station, watching agencies coordinate firefighting efforts. It was like a carefully choreagraphed dance. I was on NBC Nightly News that day, still in my running clothes, covered in sweat, no makeup, hair sticking out like Sideshow Bob from the Simpsons.

The day Cathy and I got married is an easy one to remember, December 31. We were pronounced husband and wife right before midnight.

I remember lots of other random dates, but I can tell I’m starting to bore you.

Three days from now is my 75th birthday. I am hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park that day. I won’t have cell coverage, just so you know. I don’t want you to think I’m rude if you text and you don’t hear back from me.

Seventy-five does not seem nearly as significant as 70 was. I’m not sure why. It feels like 80 will be the next tough one. I mean, I still run six days a week, mountain bike, hike, and fly all over the world speaking and whatnot. That is not likely to change anytime soon.

Every day of this life is holy, sacred, and to be lived for the greater good, including this coming Saturday, May 2. Life is good, and I am blessed on this 29th day of April, in the year of our Lord 2026.

Around seven years ago I went through one of the more difficult experiences of my life. Because of the millions of views of my first TED Talk, I was earning a good living speaking around the world. I was pastoring a new church. Five years after my transition, I was really settling into my life as Paula.

In the midst of this upturn I was suddenly afflicted with internal turmoil. I had a new therapist with whom I was doing EMDR, a rapid eye movement therapy known to heal trauma. The trauma I experienced when I came out as transgender and lost all of my jobs and most of my friends needed to be healed. That was the reason I began EMDR, but as if often the case, it brought up deeper trauma that had been retained in my body.

When we are threatened, the cerebral cortex turns over its functioning to the midbrain – the amygdala and hippocampus. The hippocampus goes into hyper memory mode, though what it remembers is not necessarily what is ultimately helpful. The amygdala helps us respond with fight, flight, fawn, or freeze, depending on the nature of the trauma. Flight is usually the first choice, if the midbrain decides fleeing is likely to be successful. If flight is not an option, we will fight. Fawning occurs when we befriend the perpetrator, prioritizing staying alive over fight or flight.

If the midbrain decides none of those options is available it goes into freeze mode. Freeze mode turns off active memory and in short, prepares you to die without consciously experiencing the death. If you survive freeze mode, you have no memory of the event. Though your mind has no memory of the trauma, your body does. The trauma is held in the body until it is released.

If you’ve ever seen a deer recover after being chased by a predator, you will notice the deer shake and shiver from head to toe. In that physiological response the body is ridding itself of the trauma just experienced. It is literally shaking off the trauma.

Humans have no such automatic physiological way to release trauma. It remains in the body until it can be released, often through therapeutic methods like EMDR, somatic therapy, cognitive processing therapy, or prolonged exposure therapy. I am fairly well acquainted with the first two. The clearest and most understandable book that explains the process of healing trauma is Peter Levine’s Waking the Tiger.

It is one thing to treat people experiencing post-traumatic stress. It is another when the post-traumatic stress is your own. On three occasions when I was in EMDR back in 2019, I left the therapy session without the trauma contained. Containment is a process in which the session is wound down so the trauma does not leave the therapy office with you. One time I went to the home of one of my copastors and literally slid to the ground in tears, completely dissociated. My copastor had no training to know how to deal with that.

On two other occasions I went to a close friend who did intuitively know what to do. She sat with me until I could move out of my dissociation and become regulated. On one occasion that took several hours. I will always be grateful for her presence, care, and nurture.

That was seven years ago. For the last two weeks I have found myself again in a place in which trauma has been triggered and I have found myself dissociating. If you know me at all, you know I am nothing if not controlled. Becoming dissociated is very troubling.

This trauma response arrived with the loss of the mayoral election. I wrote last week about some of the reasons for the loss. Doing a postmortem of the campaign was important, both for me and for other transgender candidates who might consider running for office. But this emotional response was not about understanding. It was about feeling, and the overwhelming feelings were shame and guilt for having let others down.

That has resulted in an inability to concentrate, an avoidance of friends, dysthymia (a generalized malaise,) acedia (spiritual torpor) and a few moments of dissociation.

You might ask why I am writing this. It’s a fair question. Why would I want to invite a few thousand folks to look into the process of my inner workings? The reason is because I know there is a very good chance you too have had a similar experience, past trauma you do not even recognize coming forth in your body via an unexpected trigger. You do not have to run for mayor for this to happen. The triggers that cause post-traumatic stress are many, and often bear little resemblance to the original trauma.

But when they come, you need to care for yourself. Do what you must to get through the day. This is not a time to be concerned about disappointing others. You must take care of yourself. Things began to lift when I left a conference I was attending with friends and cancelled my attendance at another. I felt like I was letting people down both times, though none of them gave me the slightest indication that I was.

As the weight began to lift, I found the strength to attend my last meeting of the Board of Trustees as Mayor Pro Tem. I gave a little speech, focused on helping the incoming board members feel comfortable in their discomfort. It is a big job, and anyone who takes it on without feelings of inadequacy does not understand just how big the job is.

I then attended a party honoring our outgoing mayor, who has become a very close friend over the last four years. I had delightful conversations with folks from town, politicians from the region who have become acquaintances and friends, and others who wanted to celebrate Hollie’s service to the town. I was complimented on how I ran my campaign and encouraged to try again. The trying again part does not sound very appealing, but the evening was very encouraging.

Life is not a problem to be solved, it is an experience to be lived. Sometimes it is a puzzle and a mystery. Some parts of life cannot be solved or even understood. They must be lived, and trusting the flow is a part of the living.

To be clear, I am good, and there is no need to reach out in concern. I have proven to be a very resilient soul. I just thought it might be helpful if I shared my experience with you. As I say at the end of many a blog post…

And so it goes.

Since I lost the election, a postmortem seems called for. No matter how successful you have been, the human ego is a fragile thing. I have already been a board member, mayor pro tem, and acting mayor. This was my third election cycle here in Lyons and the first in which I lost. Winning is more fun.

I talked with the head of the Metro Mayors Caucus before deciding to run. She said, “I think you’d win in a town of 100,000, where they do not expect to know their mayor. All they see is how you run a meeting, how you write in the paper, how you speak in public, and how you handle the media. But you live in Lyons, and in Lyons people expect to personally know their mayor. They do not know you.” Turns out she was right. Even though my TED Talks have had 10 million views, name recognition was a problem.

I guess I should have known that back in December when I went to the Metro Mayors Caucus Christmas party on a Thursday and spoke at our town’s Christmas tree lighting on a Friday. I realized I knew more people at the mayors party than at our own tree lighting.

Another problem I could have anticipated but did not is interesting, and some might find a little controversial. A number of studies show that about three quarters of conservative Christians and Mormons would never consider voting for a transgender candidate. I never think about that here in Boulder County where only 29.4 percent of our population falls into that category. But it still likely made a sizeable difference that would have made the race competitive (114 fewer votes for me and 114 more for my opponent, give or take a few.) If you are an LGBTQ+ candidate and would like the statistics, I can send them to you.

Also, that takes into account only the religious conservatives who would not vote for a trans candidate. We have no idea how many others would fall into that category. I mentioned that to our town administrator and she said, “I never knew Paul. I only know you and I always forget you are transgender.” It is true – and wonderful – but for people who do know I am transgender and do not know me personally, it is a problem. These are not great times to be trans in America.

I was thrilled when I received the endorsement of a lot of leaders, including our state senator, state representative, county commissioners, a dozen Front Range mayors, eight of the last eleven town board members, and our own current and former mayor.

Would I have done anything differently in the campaign? I could have gone door to door, and a lot of people wanted me to do so. But the truth is that I would not go door to door because even in a liberal town like Lyons, it is not safe for a transgender woman to go door to door. We are never safe.

It could be that my gender had little to do with things. It could be that Mark was just better known and a better candidate. His institutional knowledge is unparalleled, and he’s been volunteering in town for fifteen years, while I was out traveling the world speaking and pastoring a church that was not in town.

Mark and I both believe the campaign was a wonderful example of how politics could and should be. A lot of people have noted the civility of our campaign.

Would I do it again? Had I known it would not be a close race, I think not. I would have remained as Mayor Pro Tem, as I could have done for another term. But turning back the clock is still not an option in this universe. And hey, a transgender woman served as Mayor Pro Tem of Lyons, Colorado, and garnered a lot of votes in her run for mayor. That counts for something in these tumultuous times.

There’s nothing quite like running for office. My first term on the town Board of Trustees we did not have enough candidates for an election to take place, so all candidates were seated. There was an election for my second term. I did not start getting nervous until right before election day. I knew the odds were with me, but I still let out a sigh of relief when I knew I had been elected. I ended up serving as mayor pro tem, a decision made by the trustees in their first meeting.

This time the odds are 50/50 and I really have no idea who will win. I’ve been trusting my gut but my gut has not been reliable. Every couple of days it shifts its opinion. Someone asked me at church yesterday if my opponent was formidable. I hadn’t used that particular term, but if formidable means he may well beat you, the answer is yes, he is formidable.

Mark has a lot of institutional knowledge about the town. As a board member he has dug deep into issues and at times brought illumination to the entire board. He is a dedicated volunteer who has devoted countless hours to meeting the tangible needs of others. He is a good guy.

If he is so exceptional, why am I running against him? I’ve worked with Mark on the board for two years. I believe he is a better board member than he would be as mayor. I’ve chaired boards for over half my life. I believe a key to efficient functioning in any organization is good governance. It is my opinion that I will be a more effective mayor than he would be.  As I said in one of the candidate forums, the town is probably in pretty good shape whoever wins.

But back to the election itself. It is flat out strange to realize that in twenty-four hours you will find out if people have made the decision to accept you or reject you. I suppose that happens to everyone who becomes one of the final two candidates in any job search, but in those situations it’s a handful of people making the decision. Here, it is an entire municipality, or at least the voters thereof. Well, a portion of the voters thereof.

Municipal election are notorious for a light turnout, particularly when they are spring elections. There has been a lot of interest in this election, with two candidates for mayor and nine for six open board positions. Still, I will be surprised if we get over a fifty percent turnout. If it was this November, that would be a different story. Most people would agree that things are running pretty well here at the municipal level. When people feel that way, they tend to feel less passionate about voting.

I’ve used the picture on the left above for my campaign. The one on the right, the cover photo of my book, has more of a Mona Lisa feel. The women at my speaker’s agency prefer that picture. They say it gives me gravitas. One of my good friends says it makes me appear aloof. I reckon the truth is in the eye of the beholder.

I am not sure how anyone running for office could avoid taking it personally if they lose. I mean, people had an option and they specifically chose someone else over you. I imagine it drives some people to campaign harder. When I decided to throw my hat in the ring, I had already worked through the whole rejection thing. I would not have run if I would not have been okay losing. People are not rejecting you as a person. They are rejecting you as the elected leader of their community.

It has been interesting that not once have I heard a single word during this election cycle about the fact that I am transgender. I am sure there are people who are not voting for me because of it. But ours is a liberal enough environment that they are not posting about it online. One board member sent a letter to the editor of our local newspaper alluding to it and stating strong support for me. He had sent it to me before sending it to the paper. It was thoughtful and very well written. At least two other newspapers had articles about the election. They did not mention my gender at all.

I am well aware how fortunate I am to live in a place in which my gender identity is not a major issue. For most folks it is an afterthought. As our mayor said, “The fact that Paula is transgender is the least interesting thing about her.” I so wish that is how trans folks in the rest of the nation were experiencing life in their neck of the woods. Being transgender is hard to begin with, let alone navigating life if you are being treated as a pariah by your neighbors.

Would I run for office again? I was ambivalent about running this time. I was strongly encouraged to run by our town staff and current and past board members. I would not have done it without their encouragement. I will be disappointed if I lose, but not profoundly. If I win, I have a lot of hard work in front of me for the next two years. But the pay makes it all worth it. And what is the pay, you ask. It is $700 a month. That’s right – a mind-blowing $8,400 a year. What on earth will I do with those kinds of riches?

I will update this post tomorrow to let you know how things go.

Life is full of pleasant surprises. I saw two of my granddaughters this week. I was in Tucson on a working vacation, finishing the proposal for my next book. I stayed at a resort and was sitting in the lobby reading a novel on Friday morning when I saw someone who looked a lot like the father of two of my grandchildren. He walked past and a few seconds later his twins, my granddaughters, walked by. Ava saw me and they all ran over.

They had come to Tucson with their dad for spring break, four weeks after we’d flown home with them from California, where we had gone for winter break (pictured above.) They were on their way to the airport to head home, but we had a few minutes of unexpected delight. The bellhops enjoyed watching our little reunion. Such moments must be celebrated. As I sat in the lobby, grateful, I thought of all of the times in my life when moments of joy have come unexpectedly.

It was almost midnight on a delayed flight to LaGuardia last year and I was the first passenger off the plane. An off-duty pilot who had been in the cockpit jump seat was walking behind me. He caught up with me as we left security. “I think I know who you are. My wife might have strongly recommended that I watch your TED talk yesterday.”

I said, “Yep – that’s me. I’m assuming your wife thought you had been a little insensitive to women?” Sheepishly he said, “Uh, yeah, that might have been the case.” We had a delightful little chat out to the curb where he caught his shuttle and I had a chuckle. He was quite good-natured about it all.

Then there was the time I was in Oregon, along the Columbia River, stopping in my rental car to look at one dramatic waterfall after another. At Multnomah Falls, the fourth stop I had unintentionally shared with folks in their rented Volvo station wagon, the husband said, “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this.” I laughed and we began to chat. I asked them where they were from and they said Cincinnati. I asked what part and they said Delhi. I asked what part of Delhi and they said, “Paradise Lane.”

I said, “Huh. Let me ask you a question. Did you just buy a road bike built for two, and you were out on it for the first time, riding a little wobbly, and you almost ran into a runner you passed?” They looked at me with great surprise and said, “Yeah, a few weeks ago that happened.” I said, “I know. I was the runner.” I had been teaching at a seminary in Cincinnati, staying with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and went for an evening run at the same time this couple tried out their new bike. It was now two months later and here we were in Oregon. We talked for a while. They knew the seminary. Their pastor had attended there.

I was getting ready to speak for TED Women in 2018 when I heard one of the other speakers doing her dress rehearsal. I said to my son, “She’s from Appalachia, like, my neck of the woods in Appalachia.” TED speakers are from all over the world, so hearing a familiar accent is unusual. I went up to her when she finished and found out she was the fire chief in Huntington, West Virginia, my hometown. We were born in the same hospital. We were both doing TED Talks the next day. We’ve been friends ever since. I ran into her wife at the Charlotte airport Admiral’s Club a couple of months ago.

Back when I was in television I would frequently have people come up to me and tell me they had watched me on in the middle of the night. Their stories were always similar. “My wife was in the hospital and we were up during the night and we watched your show. It brought us a lot of peace.” Or, “My baby was colicky, and I couldn’t get any sleep and I watched you while I tried to calm her down.”

I was the on-air host of a quasi-religious nature show focused on those who were up in the middle of the night. We showed scenes of nature, told uplifting stories, and generally tried to encourage folks. You could tell it was Christian but you had no idea whether it was Catholic or Protestant, which was a good thing. I was the head writer. My favorite shoot was eighteen shows in Vienna, Austria on the church fathers and another eighteen on Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart, and Mahler. We shot at a thirteenth century Cistercian monastery and the Vienna Opera House, among other stunning locations.

For me, those people coming up and telling me about watching our show in the middle of the night were precious encounters. I believe when I come to the end of my days, that will have been some of the most important work I ever did, soothing people who were struggling in the middle of the night.

I have had a lot of people come up to me in airports or on streets and thank me for my TED Talks too. They tell me the talk made them laugh, and cry. I love that. It means the talk made them feel something.  I remember an orthopedic surgeon at a conference at UCLA who said, “I always thought I was crazy until one of my female colleagues showed me your TED Talk.” I told her I had heard from a lot of women in male dominated fields (like orthopedic surgery) telling me the same thing.

Still, none of those match up to seeing my granddaughters unexpectedly in a resort in Tucson. After they left I cried, grateful for all of the blessings that come our way in this holy life, our short pause between two great mysteries.

I cast my ballot for mayor on Monday, the day I received the ballot in the mail. Three weeks from now we’ll find out the results of our town’s election.

Along with trust, collaboration, and good governance, the other word I have been featuring in my campaign for mayor of Lyons, Colorado is civility. Its loss in American discourse is profoundly disconcerting.

When I was in college, my vocal band booked a gig at a large men’s conference in the heart of the Ozark mountains. I had read a monthly newsletter from the conference that included alarming lines about starving children in Biafra. I could not believe what I had read. At the conference there was an abundance of workshops about the dangers of Communism, references to the John Birch Society, and other subjects I found alarming.

These might have been well-meaning people, but you could have powered a small city with the negative energy of their misplaced confidence. It was McCarthyism kept alive in the guise of Christian fundamentalism. I was very grateful that most environments in which I lived at the time were not inhabited by such toxic certainty.

When the conference ended and I returned home, I remember going to the radio station where I worked and telling our chief engineer what I had heard. The engineer, Bill, had grown up on Staten Island and traveled the world before settling in Appalachia. He said, “Ninety-nine percent of the evil in the world is done by people who are 100 percent convinced they are right.”

His words stuck with me. I later heard M. Scott Peck say the same thing. In the years since that time, I have come to realize that the beginnings of incivility are when lack of curiosity is combined with confident certainty. The result is toxicity.

There is nothing new about today’s incivility. A cursory look at American history will find it in every decade of our 250 year existence. But it is worse today than it has been at any time since the McCarthy era. What I saw in the Ozark mountains has now permeated much of the nation, and it saddens me greatly.

That is why I am so encouraged with the civility I’ve seen in the race for mayor of Lyons, Colorado. I was talking with the other candidate after our town board meeting on Monday evening. We both have had to remind a person or two that there will be no attacks in this race, but for the most part no one has even suggested writing pejorative things about the other candidate. Most people in this town want to be civil toward one another. Mark, my opponent, and I are both campaigning on what we believe to be our unique strengths, not the weaknesses of the other. That is as it should be.

The same is true for the nine people running for six open board of trustee seats. There has been no name-calling, just civility and respect. Each of our candidate forums have been great examples of civility, sticking to issues, not personalities. Even social media has been pretty civil.

No matter who wins a seat on the Board of Trustees or the race for Mayor of Lyons, I believe the Town of Lyons will be the winner of this race. It makes me proud to live here, and to serve as Mayor Pro Tem.

Lack of curiosity and confident certainty leads to arrogance, incivility, and toxicity. Curiosity, coupled with humility, leads to good government. I am proud to live in a town committed to good government.

Running for office is a bit weird. When you grow up as an evangelical you are told that self-promotion is wrong – always. Ambition is anathema. Never mind the ambition of Abraham Lincoln or George Washington. Apparently they had a special dispensation from the gods to be ambitious. The message to me was clear, I did not have a special dispensation from the gods. I was to be self-effacing, never even whispering to others what my abilities might be.

I’m not sure how you can run for office without promoting yourself. I made a video for my current run for mayor this week. It’s about 90 seconds long and I talked about what I’d like to accomplish as mayor. I also talked about my credentials. I noted that I’ve chaired a lot of boards, including the board of a television network. (Can’t say I enjoyed that one, though I did really like both CEOs I worked with.)

I think I joined my first board, a small Christian college in upstate New York, when I was 29. I remember two elderly gentlemen, probably around 65, took me under their wings and guided my development. I remember thinking they were so, so old. Now I’m ten years older than they were!

I am a big believer in Carver Policy Governance. We utilized Carver Policy Governance back when I was a CEO. The board determined the big rocks to be moved. The staff figured out how to move the rocks and then proceeded to move them. The CEO (me) was held accountable for moving the rocks. The board was responsible for keeping itself in line. It worked well for 35 years.

Back in 2018 we did not start Left Hand Church that way. I was in a new gender, sensitive to criticisms of the patriarchy and willing to try new approaches. They didn’t work. Good to know. I’m back to believing in Carver Policy Governance.

My opponent is a good guy – a person of character, though he can be a bit gruff occasionally. We sit next to each other in board meetings. He’s a board member, I’m Mayor Pro Tem. We usually agree on what the big issues are and vote together probably 80 percent of the time. The difference is in governance style. He likes to get down in the weeds. I don’t think getting in the weeds is our job. That’s the staff’s job.

In our candidate forums I talk about governance. He talks about preferred approaches to specific tasks. I talk about civility, trust, collaboration, and good governance because, well, I think those are really important, particularly in today’s world.

There’s been no mud-slinging in our campaign. There won’t be. First, there hasn’t been enough moisture around here to even make mud this winter. We’d be slinging dust, not mud. Second, neither of us is particularly adept at slinging dust or mud.

We agreed not to use yard signs. They are not recyclable and anyway, both of us feel they are a little ostentatious. I’ll be okay if he wins. He’s a good guy and he’d do a decent job. I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about me. It feels to me like the election could go either way.

So many political contests lack basic civility. One of my friends won her race for mayor this past year, but oh my, what she had to put up with from her opponent!

A couple of folks from out of town made a presentation to our town board last Monday. Afterwards they said, “You guys are punching above your weight.” We hear that a lot in Lyons. We are a small town, but everybody in the state knows Lyons, and a lot of people would love to live here, if they could afford it. (That’s a whole different conversation.) We also have a good board and staff, decent folk who respect one another and disagree often and sometimes loudly, but then go for dinner afterwards. I’m pretty sure that’s what a democracy is supposed to look like.

This is the third time I’ve run for office. It’s always uncomfortable. Anybody who says their ego isn’t bruised when they lose is lying. Being mayor is a lot of work and it pays almost nothing, $700 a month in our town. That’s what I earned when I graduated from college and got my first full-time job in 1973. But you don’t do the job for the money, or for the accolades. There aren’t many. You do it because you feel called. The election is April 7. I’ll let you know what happens.

And so it goes.

Back when I was starting non-profits for a living, we discovered that two things were critical for success. First, we had to have the right leader. We looked for visionary people who were intrinsically motivated and had a high EQ, enabling them to get others to buy into their vision. When you think of visionary leaders, think of Martin Luther King Jr. on the Washington Mall imploring, “I Have a Dream,” or Ronald Reagan’s, “Mr. Gorbachev, Tear Down that Wall!”

Good governance was the second key to success. People understood the importance of visionary leaders, but they often did not recognize the importance of good governance.

Good governance is a board that knows its job and sticks to it, and a staff that knows its job and sticks to it. The board’s job is figuring out what big issues need to be addressed. The staff’s job is to complete them. The primary conduit between the two is the board chair and the CEO. The CEO is held responsible by the board for completion of the tasks that have been assigned. It may not sound exciting, but it’s how stuff gets done. Everybody knows their lane and stays in it.

When I used to chair boards, and over the years I’ve chaired a boatload of them, the most important words I would say early in the life of board would be, “Not our job, that’s a staff job,” or “Not a staff job, that’s our job.” Clearly delineated responsibilities make for good governance.

As most of you know, I am running for Mayor of Lyons, Colorado in the April 7 election. I serve as Mayor Pro Tem now (vice-mayor for those of you outside of Colorado) and have served on the town Board of Trustrees for four years.

To put good governance into perspective for Lyons, Colorado, the board is our Board of Trustees; the Mayor is its chair. The board’s job is to figure out what big issues need to be addressed, like infrastructure, wildfire mitigation, economic vitality, and maintaining our quality of life. The CEO is the Town Administrator. The board works through the administrator to get the tasks done.

Staff members are responsible to the administrator, not to the board. The board does not bypass the administrator to direct the work of the staff. They do hold the administrator responsibile for adequately directing the staff. It’s not rocket science, but if you have not worked on many boards, board members can have a tendency to get down into the weeds. That’s not the board’s job. That’s the staff’s job.

Hollie Rogin has been a great mayor. I wish she were in a position to continue, but she is not. To the voters of Lyons I say, if you want that kind of governance to continue here, then vote for me. I will lead with civility, trust, a collaborative spirit, and good governance.

To my readers from around the nation and world, yep, you guessed it. I’ll be writing a few posts about the election over the next six weeks. You’ll see election-related information here when I believe the message of the post is helpful to all. Thank you for accommodating that short-term shift in this blog.

And so it goes.

The awful realities on the ground in Minneapolis have made me search for additional ways in which I can personally make a difference. I have the greatest respect for the dissidents in Minneapolis who are disrupting the incivility they encounter. I have great admiration for the hundreds of people who gather in “the triangle” in the middle of Lyons, Colorado every Saturday to protest what is happening in the Trump administration. We all must do what we can.

Four years ago I ran for public office for the first time in my life. I was already older than dirt and had been on Medicare long enough to forget how expensive health insurance is, but I figured you’re never too old to start something new.

My first two years as a member of the Board of Trustees of Lyons, Colorado were humbling. I knew non-profit leadership. I had run one for over a quarter of a century. I knew education. I had taught as an adjunct at four universities. I knew corporate America, having served on the board of a national television network and two subsidiaries of a Fortune 500 company. But government was altogether different. I didn’t know an ordinance from a resolution or why Colorado’s Tabor law caused seasoned politicians to break into tears at its mere mention.

By the end of my first term I was beginning to figure out what I was doing, the key word being “beginning.” Not wanting to waste all of that learning, I ran again. In my second term I have also had the privilege of serving as Mayor Pro Tem. (For those of you outside of Colorado, that is basically vice-mayor.) Today I want to announce that I am running for mayor.

In 2021 it was my privilege to be one of the speakers for the Inaugural Prayer Service of President Joe Biden, and for the next two years to serve with members of his faith-based initiatives team. As fulfilling as those national opportunities were, I believe democratic service is most effective at the local non-partisan level, particularly in these turbulent times. I have not been able to do much to change the narrative in Washington, DC, but I have been able to make a difference in this precious and vulnerable Colorado town in which I live.

I believe that civility, trust, collaboration and good governance are all keys to healthy local government. I am a proponent of Carver Policy Governance, in which it is the board’s responsibility to figure out which big rocks are to be moved (the ends of the organization) and the CEO’s job to lead the staff in moving them (the means of the corporation.) My experience is that if you have a competent CEO who is trusted and treated with respect, they will do exactly what you empower them to do – move the big rocks. Our Town Administrator is one of the best. It’s been a pleasure to work with her for the past four years.

I believe healthy collaboration between mayor, board, staff, business owners, town residents, and state and federal officials is important to good government. Most of us get a job because of our qualifications. We advance in that job because we learn how to get people to work together for the common good.

I have great respect for my opponent. For the past two years I have served with him on the Board of Trustees. He passionately cares about Lyons. Most of the time we agree on the important issues facing our town, like wildfire mitigation and infrastructure. But we do have different approaches about how to get that done. I believe my approach, proven over three decades of non-profit leadership in New York and two years as Mayor Pro Tem, is what is needed to get the job done now.

Our current mayor, Hollie Rogin has been one of the best leaders with whom I have ever worked. We are going to miss her, but she is supporting me wholeheartedly in this election, and will continue to do so after I have been elected.

Why am I telling you all of this? Most of you do not live in Colorado, let alone reside here in Lyons. I am telling you because I think this is the moment in which all of us have to find a way to change the narrative in this nation. It’s clearly not going to happen from the top down, so we’d all better get started making it happen from the ground up. As for me, that means I wholeheartedly declare myself as a candidate for mayor of Lyons, Colorado.

If you’d like to give to my campaign, reach out to me at paula@rltpathways.com and I’ll let you know how you can contribute.

Frank lived a few blocks west of me. He was outside our neighborhood gang but inside our elementary school sphere. Frank was the younger of two brothers. His father worked at one of the tire factories ubiquitous to the Akron, Ohio landscape. Frank was loud and obnoxious.

When Leave It to Beaver first came on television (yes, I’m that old) I  thought they might have modeled Eddie Haskell on Frank. Frank was sweet to everyone’s parents, the picture of deferential respect. My dad saw right through him. Mom did not. Taken by his flattery she would ask, “Why don’t you have Frank come over more often?”

I did not invite Frank over more often because Frank was a bully. I saw his father give him a dressing down in his front yard once, in front of a bunch of us. It was utterly humiliating for poor Frank. Being an Enneagram Two and all, I went to Frank and said, “I’m sorry that happened.” Unfortunately I did not understand it at the time, but I had witnessed his true powerlessness, a truth he could not bear to have anyone witness. While he had always been a bully, from that moment on he reserved a special enmity for me.

No one from my old neighborhood knows what happened to Frank. I’ve searched his surname, a very unusual and supremely unfortunate name that relates to things that occur in a private restroom. I’ve not found him anywhere, but then again, he might have changed his name. I mean, it would have been a good  idea to have done so.

Bullies almost always have sad backstories. Profoundly wounded by life, their ego strength is so weak they spend the rest of their lives knowing no other pathway to power than the denigration and diminishment of others. Narcissistic Personality Disorder is very difficult to treat. When I was in training I was told I would probably never treat someone with NPD because they never go to therapy. Their wounding was so early in life and so profound it is unbearable for them to revisit that original wound.

Our president is a bully. In my opinion, he has narcissistic personality disorder, though I cannot diagnose that with certainty because he is not my client. I lived in New York for 35 years. There was virtually no one in New York City who had any use for him. He was known as a terrible businessman and a wannabe fixated with Page Six of the New York Post, the page with all of the celebrity gossip. When he was chosen for the Apprentice, we all couldn’t believe it.

One of my friends lived near him in Florida. My friend’s daughter and Trump’s daughter Tiffany were friendly acquaintances. My friend’s wife was friends with Trump’s wife at the time, Marla. They had kind things to say about Marla and Tiffany, but not Donald.

But that was then, and here we are now. A grown-up Eddie Haskell as president, with half of the nation following news and social media that hide the truth. My safety is decidedly worse than it was before he was elected. My medical care remains, but my options for providers gets smaller and smaller. I really worry about the six members of my family who are people of color, two of whom were not born in the US, though they have been citizens for over forty years. Based on what we’ve seen in Minneapolis this past week, that doesn’t matter anymore.

When people said Trump was a fascist, I thought they were throwing around a term that was sensational, not true. Now, I believe it is true. With the demolition of norms, the glorification of violence, the creation of “alternate facts” from the highest positions in the land, I’ve lost hope for our nation. With our current Supreme Court and Congress, I see no pathway forward. We are failing the stress test of democracy and I fear it will be too late before most of the country recognizes it.

I’ve never been a pessimist. I have always seen the glass half full, even after I transitioned and lost all of my jobs, my pension, and my friends. Hope has been my stock in trade, but in today’s America, my hope is rapidly diminishing. I keep desperately repeating the words of Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all.