The Line I Stayed In — And the Love That Kept Me Warm
January 19, 2025 — the night before.
A victory rally.
A long line outside.
I asked a volunteer:
“How do we get in for tomorrow?”
He shrugged:
“Come outside and get right back in line.”
A few friends I’d just met — strangers who’d shared laughs, shared warmth — said they’d stay.
Then the cold hit.
They left.
I stayed.
We took turns walking five blocks to Wawa for coffee, sandwiches, whatever would keep us alive.
Held spots.
Watched each other’s backs.
Built a little community in the wind —
because the ones who stayed?
We wanted to celebrate America together.
Not just watch it.
Stand beside it.
I asked if they’d stay in touch.
Most said no —
“too much in my phone already.”
Their loss.
I loved them anyway.
Dared to love America out loud.
And now?
I have something that statistically shouldn’t exist:
two letters from the White House,
one hand-signed on Resolute Desk paper,
dated November 5, 2025 —
during the October shutdown.
When everything else stopped,
someone decided my moment mattered.
They kept working.
They answered.
I went to Washington alone —
flew to Orlando first, took Amtrak up the coast,
ate in the dining car, broke bread with strangers.
Arlo Guthrie:
“Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Fifteen hundred miles down…”
That’s America — real, rolling, full of hearts you never knew you’d love.
Some family still calls it politics.
Young kids think it’s sides.
I tell them gently:
“It’s not.
It’s civics.
It’s heart.
Judge people by what’s inside —
not what they vote.
There’s enough hate.
We need more love.
More pauses.
More bread broken together.”
This changed me.
From a shy kid who kept quiet
to a man who knows:
if my heart can get the White House to turn —
twice —
when the government was dark —
then I’ll keep loving out loud.
America.
People.
The quiet ones who think no one hears.
I’m not afraid anymore.
And yeah —
I’m waiting.
Not chasing.
Just open.
If you’re carrying love in your chest
and haven’t said it yet —
say it.
The world still listens.
And sometimes —
when the timing’s right —
it writes back.
With warmth
that lasts forever.
