How Did I Get Here?

I often ask myself, How did I get here? My path, like many before me, did not begin in a blaze of ambition but in small, steady acts of participation - joining my town’s political party committee, serving on boards and commissions, and volunteering for campaigns. I simply chose to show up. I showed up so consistently that I was asked to consider running for elected office. That invitation came with labels like “public figure” and “politician,” terms that made me wince because they did not reflect who I am. Still, I recognized that a sense of responsibility was slowly-burning, asking to be ignited.

I believe we are living through a historic moment. I found myself asking: When the documentary of this chapter in our nation’s history is made, what role will I have played? I knew I could not remain on the sidelines, watching the chaos from a safe distance. I had to turn worry into work - to choose faith over fear, connection over division, and engagement over apathy. 

For guidance, I called on past heroes like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who reminded us that “community is the moral alternative to chaos.” I also called on my ancestors, especially my father, George Lazarus - a devout Christian - for the courage to trust my intuition and the discipline to use my voice with clarity and intention. As I considered stepping out of my comfort zone and leaning fully into the moment, I was reminded of the mythical phoenix, which does not fear the fire, but chooses its moment of death so that rebirth is possible.

Like the phoenix, we all experience moments when we drift - when we are asleep at the wheel, when apathy and distrust quietly settle in, when fear makes disengaging seem easier than risking failure. Those moments leave their own kind of ash behind. But as it is with the phoenix, ashes are not an ending. 

We can choose to remain in the ashes, or we can rise - more awake, more engaged, more generous in spirit. Democracy, like the phoenix, depends on this choice. It asks for moral courage, collective responsibility, and faith in one another. If we step forward together - willing to endure discomfort and committed to renewal - we will emerge stronger, wiser, and more resilient than we were before.

The choice is yours.

Lisa P. Lazarus