A political path to inner peace

I am in Cuyahoga County, Ohio.  You’ve probably never heard of Cuyahoga; I hadn’t either before arriving here three days ago.  It is the most populous county in the state and home to the city of Cleveland.  The 1.5 million people in the surrounding area—or those that actually vote—may very well decide tomorrow’s election for President.  I came here with few expectations and a whole lot of enthusiasm.  My first morning, I set out with a new friend—also from the South and also studying in Cambridge—to “canvas” or knock on doors.  We had a map, a list of voter names, and a general idea of what to say when a door opened to our knock.  We knew the folks on our list were already likely supporters of President Obama, so our goal was to get them out of their houses and into the polls.  What followed was a profound learning experience for me. The streets we walked were filled with abandoned and boarded houses.  The housing crisis was particularly hard on this area, leaving in its wake

I recently left the world of politics for the world of business.  To my surprise, the cultures have not turned out to be as distinct as I imagined.  Except for one glaring exception: me.  In Washington, I considered myself a moderate in a town of party loyalists.  Much to the chagrin of my friends, I could even be found making libertarian arguments from time to time.  I was progressive, certainly.  A registered democrat, yes.  But I was really just a novice in a sea of experts, and still green enough on any given issue to challenge both red and blue. At Sloan, my politics have morphed into my persona—like I am wearing a sign around my neck that says, “Let’s talk about the election!”  Except that it’s not just the sign that is saying it.   The words are literally coming out of my mouth. I can’t help it.  It’s like a Potomac virus has gotten into my bloodstream, traveled north to my brain, and rearranged synapses so that I absolutely must speak about the state of