Howdy,
I’m sorry I’ve been MIA recently — that’s Missing in Action for those not hip to that acronym (triple points for an acronym in the first 100 words, homie).
I spent last week gallivanting across DC (only retirees can gallivant). It was a wonderful week. I love DC. It is a fantastic place, full of bright people chasing fame and power and occasionally pursuing something inherently good.
I was able to meet most of my colleagues at The Bulwark. I tried hard not to fanboy too many of them (sorry about that, Mona Charen, but I couldn’t help myself). I saw all the fantastic writers, editors, and employees who crank out incredible articles, podcasts, and videos daily. I also met a crew of young Americans leading the efforts on Defending Democracy Together, which hosts a slew of worthy causes. I’m truly blessed to work with such a fantastic crew of intellectual heavyweights.
I am truly living the dream. It doesn’t get much better than this for a man who grew up engulfing issues of The Weekly Standard, National Review, and The New Republic on the regular.
I attended a happy hour for Bulwark readers. While nobody recognized my face — shocking, I know—at least five people knew my work. BOOM! Cha-ching! Stardom and wealth, here I come. Honestly, I’m always delighted when anyone reads any of my work.
(I published these two pieces recently: here and here)
I caught up with old war buddies, too. I hadn’t seen either of them in probably five years, but we quickly fell back into our friendship like we did when we were deployed. There’s a bond that cannot be replicated between men and women who fought side-by-side. I know them. And they know me. I’m confident that they would drop everything to help me if I needed either of them. That’s very rare in today’s world. It is, indeed, a blessing.
Of course, I also caught up with my Afghan brothers and sisters, many of whom I helped evacuate (the Talibs insist we say “relocate,” but you know, "screw you”). I went to one family’s house, where three Afghan women fed me enough food to feed a small army.
I love Afghans. Love them. But be forewarned: if you help them, they will repay you by putting you into a food coma.
I even attended a political conference for Never Trump Republicans (all five of us). Honestly, the Principles First Conference was a great two-day event. There were around 500 attendees. The Bulwark stole the show (yes, I’m biased, but it’s the truth). Sarah Longwell, AB Stoddard, and JVL taped a live show, and it was (as always) funny, insightful, and sobering.
I enjoyed listening to Governor Asa Hutchinson, Mona Charen, Francis Fukuyama, and Bill Kristol talk about the state of the country. My favorite non-Bulwark presenter was Kori Schake, hallowed be thy name. She was eloquent, trenchant, and swatted away nonsensical assertions with ease.
I even did some Crossfitting (don’t hate me) and ran all over the National Mall.
It was one of the best trips of my life.
But I was ready to come home.
Since retiring, I’ve learned that I belong at home with my beautiful family. Living in DC is amazing. I did it twice. I loved every minute of it. It’s where the action takes place. But it pales in comparison to the lovely Charity, my beautiful daughter, and Bucky Boy (AKA Floppy Face), the world’s greatest pup.
It’s fun to be with influential people. It’s intoxicating when they want to hear what you say on a given subject. Hobnobbing with them can be addicting (see Lindsay Graham). Yet, for all my fun, none of it can compare with my daughter’s face when she saw me for the first time in a week.
That is a blessing, a real gift from G*d.
Writing in a publication that I adore is a dream come true. Being seen as an equal by some of the best writers in America is second to none. But coming home to a beautiful wife, a loving daughter, and a slobbering bloodhound—well, that’s priceless.
After 20 years in the military and 4 1/2 years in Iraq and Afghanistan, my real gift is my family. That’s what makes this last month so enriching. I realize that while all my pursuits are enlightening, they pale in comparison to watching my daughter grow, my wife chase her professional dreams, and the undying affection from Bucky Boy.
They are what truly matters. The rest is just icing on the proverbial cake.
Until next time.
I echo Carol Key, great to see your work recognized.
There is a little known substack regulation that you can't mention your dog without a photo or a video.
Seriously, I am informing you for your own good! ; -)
Thank you Will for sharing your stories and insights. You are a fantastic addition to the Bulwark.