Brazen - Be a Voice, Not an Echo

SUPER TUESDAY

I’ll never forget that day.

I woke up that morning after a rough night’s sleep. I am normally a very lighthearted, optimistic guy, but I felt knots in my stomach the second I got out of bed. I couldn’t shake the anxiety and nervous tension—what would this day hold? I had heard from past candidates that there is a certain finality surrounding elections that is hard to explain. After eight months of pouring my heart, soul, and guts into something so demanding and so intense, I had arrived at the moment of truth. I abandoned so many other pursuits and this was my moment to see if it was all worth it. This was my payday.

I downed three shots of espresso over ice and then called my buddy, Aamon, who was running my campaign. He had moved his entire family across the country from Oklahoma to California a few months prior in response to a crazy word from God and to help me win a seat in the US Congress. Aamon was the direct answer to prayer. I had thrown out a fleece before the Lord, asking God to provide a high-caliber, big-thinking boss to guide this campaign if we had any shot at winning. God answered my prayer through a random meeting—one of my friends met Aamon in a hot tub at a resort. He works in mysterious ways, I guess!

Aamon had just finished helping get the governor of Oklahoma elected (which was another crazy miracle) and running my campaign was the next mountain of victory he felt called to climb. As soon as he arrived in California, we began running a thousand miles an hour.

When I called him that morning, I asked Aamon what his past candidate did on election night to get an idea of what is normal for the day. I felt we would probably need to do something productive and did not want to hold back any energy, resources, or ideas that we could implement before it was all over. I was exhausted, but I was also all in and ready to push through to the final moment.

I had never spoken as many times, traveled as much, or raised as much money as I did during that final month. I wanted to leave it all on the field. Despite my anxiety, I woke up ready to fight! I thought there may be some last-minute phone calls we could make, emails to blast, or maybe we could set up signs and a live stream outside a polling station in the center of the district. I was open to anything Aamon felt would be necessary to help secure the victory that night.

He laughed at me on the phone at my perpetually over-eager, “ready to brawl” mindset. He suggested, instead, that we just go fishing. Apparently, California has some pretty strict laws for how close to a polling station you can legally campaign on the day of an election. He also assured me that this particular district was close to 70 percent mail-in ballots, so the election had already been decided a few weeks ago. I was discovering these types of facts—which I never knew—almost every single day.

This was my first ever election, and I looked and sounded like anything but a polished politician. I figured there was virtually no way I would come in first place and beat out the incumbent Democrat. He had held this seat for over ten years. He had also served as the insurance commissioner, lieutenant governor, and was previously in the state assembly. All together, he had been in politics for over forty years and represented some of the most liberal and far left regulations and policies that were crushing the people of the Golden State. Over three thousand people were leaving California every day, and we needed change.

I did feel very confident, though, that as the lone outsider in the race, I could come in second place. That would allow me to continue on to November and build my case to bring a fresh face, a bold voice, and creative solutions to Capitol Hill.

We had raised more money, amassed more social media followers, hosted more campaign events, knocked on more doors, blasted more mailers, and made more calls than any of my Republican competitors. We had an excellent team and we were all working so hard! I had run myself ragged, but I still drew energy from knowing I gave everything I had. That was all that mattered in the end. Besides winning, of course!

My campaign manager assured me to rest in the work we had done. I realized it was all in God’s hands now. So we went fishing.

It was a beautiful day of sunshine with no clouds in the sky. We walked across the street from my property to my neighbor’s pond and laughed a ton as we reminisced about the crazy things we heard and saw along the campaign trail. Every day we had been floored by how many people were disengaged, did not care, or said the strangest things to us. While we talked, Aamon caught five fish. I caught zero. My mind was way too preoccupied to even focus on casting. I would catch myself staring up into the sky while my line snagged around the bottom of a log.

When we left the pond, I picked up my kids from school, and we made the trip down to our campaign office in downtown Fairfield. On the way down, I fretted to my wife about everything that could potentially go wrong. It is not in my personality at all to fret or worry. Optimism is my only gear and almost everyone who knows me would agree. I always think about the best outcomes.

Yet, there were so many things weighing on my mind in that moment. I worried about a low turnout due to the new virus scare coming from China. The media was already panicking about what would eventually become a global pandemic—COVID-19. Just a few days before Super Tuesday, the first known US case was discovered in the very same district in which I was running. I had a growing fear that many would not show up to the polls due to these concerns. I also knew the relentless fear-mongering of the media was only amplifying the situation. Without a strong turnout from the older generation, millennials, minorities, and independent conservatives, it would be difficult to win.

I also worried about our current momentum. We had an exploding presence online and were getting great press coverage in the national news. But would that translate into local votes inside the district? I was late starting my campaign—did voters know enough about me and my policy positions to take a chance on a long-haired worship leader who did not even live inside the district? We were one of the most watched congressional campaigns in America. I had met with senior officials, congressmen, senators, and even the president and vice president of the United States. Yet, only the voters in CA-3 would determine the outcome.

In the parking lot of Chick-fil-A, a ray of hope came in the form of an African American family. They flagged down our car as we were about to drive away and motioned for me to role down my window. “Are you that Sean guy running for Congress?” they shouted. They were laughing because they recognized me by my hair. Then they pointed to their “I VOTED” stickers on their chests and told me that they had all just voted for me. My kids started cheering and I felt a massive boost of encouragement. With just that small encounter, a surge of confidence shot through my heart and I felt renewed energy as we drove to our watch party.

We pulled into the campaign office right as the polls were beginning to close. We heard a chorus of cheers as a string of people overflowed from our office and almost filled the entire block! Our headquarters was filled with people, finger food, tiny American flags, congress banners, T-shirts, and bottles of champagne waiting to be popped open. There was a distinct energy and excitement as we laughed, waited, smiled, then waited some more.

That was quite possibly the most eclectic crowd of people I had ever seen. Our entire campaign staff was hosting the party, along with our interns, local church leaders, and plenty of random people who had been drawn to our campaign and message along the way. Every single person present had a story of how our lives intersected. They were old, young, Black, white, Hispanic, Asian, and most of them did not even know each other. They were there because they had a reason to believe and fight for change in California.

We set up a room in the very back of the office with a few laptops feeding the live election results onto a large screen out front. My campaign manager was in the back with some of our core team, our wives, and all our kids. Books, toys, blankets, and iPads were scattered around the room to keep them busy while we settled in for the night.

Everyone was wearing “Sean for Congress” T-shirts and smiling proudly with expectation. Our big-screen projection setup was not the smoothest or best looking display, but no one seemed to really mind. I guess it kind of played into our grassroots vibe. We were ready for the watch party to kick into high gear!

This was another first for me. I had never been to a watch party before in my life—I had no idea what to do or how things worked. I kept pacing around the little office and could barely even look at the screen as the first wave of votes rolled in. As the minutes ticked by, however, I began to gain confidence that I would come in second place and move on to November. I did not enter the race only to lose in the primary, especially after building so much momentum and giving it so much of my heart.

After more than a thirty-minute delay—which felt like an eternity—the first numbers came through. I looked over at Aamon as he furiously scoured the New York Times live election results, refreshing the page every ten seconds. The ghastly look on his face as he saw the initial numbers felt like one of the biggest gut punches of my life.

“Okay,” he said, “here are the...