Manic Monday

So here I am on a Monday morning, drinking my coffee, looking out the window, asking myself the same question I’ve asked every day for the last month:

“How do I promote the Truth Party today?”

And then I make the mistake every American makes.

I turn on the news.

Big mistake.

Because apparently we’ve entered a permanent loop in this country.

Every day it’s the same story.

“The economy is in crisis.”

“The border is in crisis.”

“Healthcare is in crisis.”

“Congress remains divided.”

Really?

Congress remains divided?

That’s like reporting that water remains wet.

I’ve been watching the news for fifty years, and honestly, I think they’re just replaying footage from 1987.

The names change.

The hairstyles change.

The graphics get fancier.

But the script?

Exactly the same.

“We’ve identified a major problem.”

Great.

“We’ve proposed a half-baked solution.”

Excellent.

“Nothing will happen.”

Fantastic. See you tomorrow.

And that’s the thing that’s been rattling around in my head this Monday morning.

What if we’re asking the wrong question?

Maybe the question isn’t:

“How do we fix America?”

Maybe it’s:

“How do we finally start America?”

Because this week is the Fourth of July.

Two hundred and fifty years.

Two hundred and fifty!

Do you realize how young that is?

Italy is looking at us like we’re a toddler with a driver’s license.

England’s over there saying, “Oh, that’s adorable. You’re having a bicentennial plus fifty.”

We’re not an old country.

We’re the startup nation.

We’re the garage band of democracies.

And like every startup, we’ve made some mistakes.

Okay… we’ve made a lot of mistakes.

We’ve had bugs in the software.

We’ve had some really questionable management decisions.

We’ve definitely skipped a few updates.

But the beautiful thing about America isn’t that we got it right.

It’s that every generation gets a chance to make it a little less wrong.

That’s the whole project.

And that’s why I’m excited.

Because at 69 years old, instead of yelling at the television like a normal retiree, I decided to start a political party.

My family looked at me like I’d announced I was building a rocket ship in the backyard.

And honestly?

They’re not entirely wrong.

Because that’s exactly what this feels like.

It feels like standing next to a Saturn V.

You don’t know if it’s going to explode.

You don’t know if it’s going to work.

You just know that if nobody lights the engine, we’re all staying on the launch pad.

So this Fourth of July, while everybody else is watching fireworks celebrating the last 250 years, I’m going to be thinking about the next 250.

Because America isn’t finished.

America isn’t broken.

America is under construction.

And maybe—just maybe—we’re just getting started.