A Reason to Believe_ Lessons From an Improbable Life - Deval Patrick [61]
Most rejections were harmless. Some were more pernicious, like the apartments I tried to rent in west Los Angeles: They were available when I called, suddenly weren’t when I arrived to look at them, and then miraculously became available again when I called later. One night I had a meeting in the Oval Office with President Clinton. It ran late, and I could not get a cab to stop in front of the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue. Taxis would glide right past me to the white guy down the block.
Growing up as I did, maneuvering through Milton and Harvard, and traveling as I had, I received many lessons about overcoming adversity, large and small. But nothing is as humbling or as insidious as political life.
When I first ran for governor, I certainly knew that I would be subjected to far more criticism than ever before, and if I won, the second-guessing, the carping, and even the personal attacks would become my daily fare. All of that did indeed happen. For the first time, I had not only my judgment assailed but my character impugned. Legitimate complaints should be heeded—no politician or political party has all the answers—but I tried to ignore the crackling static of personal invective and the belittling impulse of our political culture. The same singular focus and concentration I had already learned was needed, I thought, to move our policy agenda forward.
In retrospect, I realize that my approach was a little too narrow. I did not fully consider the larger implications of a public life for my family and did not foresee how the glaring limelight would affect the woman at the center of my life—until it was far too late, until after the blows had been delivered and the wound lay bare and bleeding.
In January of 2005, I had just left my job at Coca-Cola in Atlanta in part because I was tired of the weekly commute from Boston. I’m sure Diane was hoping that my next job would be a little more … settled. She was entitled to a husband who was home more often than gone. In addition to running the house and participating in numerous charities, Diane continued her impressive legal career. Since the mid-1990s, she has been with Ropes & Gray in Boston, where she is a valued partner specializing in labor law.
I was eager to live and work closer to home again in Boston, but I was ready to take my career in a different direction. I told Diane that I wanted to run for governor, which stunned her. She asked if I wouldn’t consider running for Congress or another office that was a little less ambitious for a first run. But I said that I wanted to set the agenda, and I thought the governor’s role was the right one for the contributions I thought I could make. She presumed, like everyone else, that I had little chance of winning, but she knew my track record of accomplishing what I set my mind to.
As always, she supported my decision, but reluctantly this time. We knew that a campaign would put us both in the spotlight, which would be taxing for someone as private as Diane. We knew political campaigns could get nasty, particularly when you throw race into the mix, but we thought we were ready.
In some ways, Diane was more ready than I: For all of her reticence, she was a frighteningly good campaigner—smart, articulate, a model of grace and charm. When we appeared jointly on the campaign trail, I would often hear, “Why isn’t she running?” And in truth, Diane was excited by the enthusiasm of the