Of all the shattered ceilings and racial barriers and political realignments the primary season has highlighted, one future outcome has me chirping more than any other: I no longer need to wait until my early 50s to run for president.
When I make big decisions like these, I like to dress up a little, as you can see.
Barack is only 46 as the Democratic nominee, so it seems silly--if not downright irresponsible--for me to wait until 2032 when I could kick things off in 2048. Or heck, if he wins, 46 will sound long in the tooth, accomplished, even ordinary. That would free me to run at 42 and represent a new generation of politcal thinkers suddenly fatigued with all the ancient candidates in their late 40s and (gasp) 50s. I used to think 52 was pushing it on the experience front, but if I wait that long in this climate I'll be a political dinosaur.
Hence my new plan: run for president in 2024, which complicates our name. But after many hard minutes of thinking, I decided not to change the campaign name just yet; frankly, you could sooner kick over Everest than budge this movement. So we are the same in name, though changed in urgency and purpose.
When I make big decisions like these, I like to dress up a little, as you can see.
