12/22/2025
2025 tested so many of us in too many ways - personally, politically, spiritually.
But man - we did a lot of good together.
What Iâve learned this year, in ways Iâll carry for the rest of my life, is that when you truly love your community, titles stop mattering. You donât need an office to feel the weight of responsibility, or the pull to act.
When you care deeply, you feel both the obligation and the opportunity to soften the world where you can.
To step in.
To speak up.
To try - in your little corner of the world - to make things better.
This year was hard. I had major surgery in January. I spent time standing in solidarity with families and individuals navigating Medicaid, caregivers demanding that someone protect the systems holding them above water, parents stretched thin, and neighbors carrying far more than they should. I watched people Iâve come to know and love be hurt by policy decisions made by people who are far too removed from the consequences - people who will never sit at these kitchen tables, never hear these stories, never feel the weight of what their choices do to real lives.
We fought for public schools because kids deserve more than scraps. We pushed back against unjust and inhumane policies knowing that silence would have been easier - but turning a blind eye to all of this would be wrong. And when crises hit close to home, we tried to fill the gaps the best way we knew how, because our neighbors couldnât wait for permission or perfection.
As we move through the holidays and look ahead to the inevitable exhaustion weâll feel heading into the next year, I want you to know this: none of this comes from ambition alone. It comes from love. From heartbreak. From knowing our community deserves leaders who actually give a damn.
However you showed up this year - whether you knocked doors, shared posts, donated food or financial aid, cooked meals, made calls, sent a message, volunteered locally or simply let your heart break again because youâre paying attention. It means everything.
Truly.
Donât stop.
I hope this season brings you rest. I hope it steadies you. And I hope it refuels you for the work ahead. Our people are worth it.
Weâre not alone in this.