I listen to an audiobook for most of my runs, so I’ve had an opportunity to tackle many books on my reading list while on the move. I’ve read 30 books so far this year. Some of the highlights include Evicted by Matthew Desmond, The Dawn of Everything by David Graeber, and Bleeding Edge by Thomas Pynchon. I’ve also read some compelling running-specific books. What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, Endure by Alex Hutchinson, and North by Scott Jurek provided insight and inspiration as I endeavored to test my limits through the act of running. As my wife Greta can attest, I could talk about the books I read for hours; therefore, I won’t elaborate further here. If you’re interested, you can check out my Goodreads profile to connect and see what else I’ve read. 

I’m not teaching this summer, so I’ve dedicated most of my working hours to research. I’m currently writing a book on presidential norms based on the research I’ve conducted over the past eight years. Writing is also an excellent practice for those seeking self-knowledge. My daily writing routine is one of the highlights of my day. My review of John Robert Greene’s Little Helpers: Harry Vaughan, His Cronies, and Corruption in the Truman Administration was recently published in Congress and the Presidency. You can read the review here. 
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Last month, I was honored by AFT Oregon with the award for “Outstanding Excellence in Activism.” As a committed labor advocate and proud member of United Academics University of Oregon, this recognition is incredibly meaningful. Over the past several years, I’ve endeavored to live out my values—advocating for working people, standing with the marginalized, and pushing for real change in education policy. 

I participated in four interviews over the past week. Last week, Newsweek contacted me to discuss recent shifts in rhetoric among some conservative Republicans regarding Israel’s military campaign in Gaza. KVAL 13, NBC 16, and KEZI 9 reached out to discuss redistricting, gerrymandering, and the Texas Democrats’ legislative walkout. It's been a busy week in American politics. 

Since I started at UO two years ago, I’ve given more than 70 interviews in national and international, as well as state and local outlets. My interviews have appeared in the Associated Press, BBC, Washington Post, Reuters, among others. For a few months, I even had a regular segment on one of the local Eugene NBC affiliate stations called Politics in Perspective with Dr. Chandler James. You can find links to most of my media appearances on my website.
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Finally, I want to use my platform to help educate the public about politics and public policy. To reach a broader audience, I recently created an account on Instagram @run2summits. I’d love your help in this effort! If you have any questions that you think others might also have, or if you think of a topic that would be interesting to discuss on this forum, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m also on X, LinkedIn, and Bluesky. Let's connect!

That sums things up for now. Thanks for taking the time to read. I appreciate your support and interest. Until next time.

​I started the 2021 Los Angeles Marathon next to a barefoot runner named Albert Perusset, who I would later learn was the world record holder for running barefoot marathons. After the race, I looked him up and discovered a profound editorial he penned for a digital magazine called Mr Feelgood. Unfortunately, the marathon we ran together would be his last, an astonishing 211th barefoot marathon. Perusset passed away only a month after the race. However, the wisdom he shared lives on through the people he inspired. This post is dedicated to the memory of Albert Perusset, who left an indelible impact on me through our brief interaction and his sage advice. 

Perusset’s value system begins and ends with the contention that “life is a gift,” something to be treasured and appreciated. The purpose of life is to use your time wisely—on things that make you happy and healthy. Perusset said running was the ideal way for him to spend his time because it did both of those things at the same time. Running serves a similar function for me. My long runs are a form of meditation and an opportunity to reconnect with myself. 
 
One of the primary benefits of running is being outside and viscerally connecting with your lived environment. This is why Perusset ran barefoot. He considered it a form of grounding, a way to tap into “all the energy channels [that] go through you, from Earth to the universe.” Although I typically run with shoes, I’ve done several long barefoot runs. I can attest to being more conscientious than usual, attuned to my surroundings and the impact of where and how I was stepping.  
 
Zen Buddhism and Socrates greatly influence Perusset. He invokes Socrates’ dictum to “know thyself” as the first of three things in his formula for happiness. The second is to be aware. The third is gratitude. His ethics is parsimonious and compelling. Possessing philosophical weightiness forged through practical experience. His ranking of these ingredients and their interdependence and interrelation intrigues me. 
 
Self-knowledge is fundamental to being a moral agent. This is one of the main reasons I set challenging goals, like running ultramarathons, getting a PhD, or starting new endeavors. I’ve found that you can only discover who you truly are by testing your self-perceived limitations. Achieving hard things requires consistency, determination, and grit. The sense of self-efficacy derived from clarity of purpose and proven success furnishes the confidence to seek new experiences and greater self-understanding. What holds most people back is fear. Anything is possible when you know what you want and you’re willing to stretch yourself to get it. Man is something to be overcome.
 
Pain and suffering are a part of the human experience. How you deal with this fact determines your life satisfaction. Perusset takes a Zen mindset to suffering. He writes, “Problems come and go. They are like clouds in the sky.” In this way, life's suffering is endemic and transient. However, through meditation, one can become aware of the impermanence of discomfort and comfort. By noticing how our thoughts change from moment to moment, we can create distance from our internal monologue, which is adept at judging and planning. 
 
There was a period of my life when I was depressed and nihilistic. I couldn’t see the point of life. I’d cope in unhealthy ways. A few years ago, I started more constructively dealing with life’s difficulties. I reached out for help. I started eating more consciously – more plants and whole foods, less processed stuff. I started hiking, camping, climbing, and practicing yoga. Nature is healing. When I moved to the Pacific Northwest, I started running, biking, and meditating regularly. It was life-giving. Scientists are beginning to take notice of these alternative forms of therapy to combat disaffection. A recent research study found that running therapy is just as effective as antidepressants on mental health. 

Sometimes, it can be hard to make a major life change, especially when you’re in a dark place. But there’s hope. Perusset’s editorial is a practical guide to living well. He offers concrete and straightforward suggestions for how to improve the quality of your life. Coping with life’s difficulties with enriching practices can help us contend with life’s challenges without turning to toxic, counterproductive measures that promulgate our pain in the long term but mask it in the short term. 
 
His best advice concerns habits, based on his belief that “the human mind by nature is very lazy, so you have to play tricks with your mind.” Perhaps the biggest trick you can play on your mind is to set a big, worthwhile goal and create and stick to a plan that will help you achieve it. Goals and routines are constructive tools to circumvent a mental tendency toward complacency or homeostasis. Goals keep us moving and striving. Routines make it possible to achieve goals worth accomplishing. 
 
So much of what happens is out of our control. How you react is up to you. Take some time to disconnect from the cacophony of the outside world and listen to yourself. Discover your calling and take action. With determination and self-confidence, we can realize our full potential and learn about ourselves in the process. Achievement and public recognition sometimes coincide with self-actualization.  Sometimes they don’t. 
 
External praise can be gratifying, but ultimately, “peace, and everything you are looking for, is inside of you.”

Taylor Branch’s Parting the Waters: America in the King Years, 1954-1963, offers a masterful account of the early Civil Rights Movement, focusing on the life and leadership of Martin Luther King Jr., from the Montgomery bus boycott to the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Through this lens, Branch presents not only a biography of King but also a history of a movement that reshaped American democracy. His evocative prose and rigorous research capture the complexity, passion, and heartbreak of this transformative era.

Parting the Waters provides a profound analysis of the repertoires of contention within the Civil Rights Movement, exploring the strategies and methods employed by its leaders. It also delves into the theories and histories of nonviolence as a political tool. Branch’s careful incorporation of these histories adds richness and nuance to the story, illuminating the debates and dilemmas that defined the Movement. The book vividly captures the most passionate and evocative moments of King’s speeches, leaving me deeply moved and inspired by his oratory and example.

Branch’s depiction of the Jim Crow South is both heart-wrenching and unflinching. He chronicles the violence, degradation, and dehumanization endured by Black Americans under segregation, as well as the courage required to resist it. Branch does an excellent job of highlighting the brutality of Jim Crow while simultaneously humanizing it. This dual perspective underscores the immense difficulty Civil Rights leaders faced in addressing issues of race in the United States. The conundrum of race—its meaning, its role in society—has proven to be an incredibly intractable political problem, not just in the South but across the nation.

I was particularly struck by Branch’s portrayal of King’s political acumen. As a Civil Rights leader, King navigated a complex and often treacherous political landscape. He acted as a de facto political leader for Black America, balancing the demands of constituencies, raising funds, generating attention, and inspiring mass action. Simultaneously, he negotiated with Southern leaders, Northern liberals, and federal officials. His exchanges with President Kennedy are fascinating and offer valuable insights into the cross-pressures that have historically hindered significant progress on racial issues in America.

Branch’s account sheds light on a familiar topic but brings it to life with tremendous detail. While King and the Civil Rights Movement are well-known, this book illuminates their struggles and achievements in a way that feels urgent and relevant. The deliverance of rights portrayed in Parting the Waters remains unfinished; we continue to grapple with many of the same challenges today. Race, class, culture, history, and politics intersect in complex and deeply sensitive ways, making the issues King faced as resonant today as they were then.

​Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged is a sprawling dramatization of her objectivist philosophy, a work that venerates selfishness as a cardinal virtue while decrying altruism as a destructive force. The novel’s central narrative follows Dagny Taggart, a determined industrialist striving to keep her family’s railroad company afloat amidst societal collapse. What sets the text apart—both strikingly and problematically—is its moral absolutism: the heroes are rich, rational industrialists who embody brilliance, while the villains are cynical bureaucrats and collectivists, cloaked in the language of public good but ultimately parasitic and corrupt.

​What does discipline mean to me? I am reflecting on this question at the behest of Dr. Kate, the slow productivity advocate and coach. I am dedicating time and attention to this question because it is a valuable means to organize my thoughts regarding a range of topics that can be productively addressed by doing so. 
 
First, it is worthwhile to propose a definition of discipline. I define discipline as “a set of standards for which to do a particular thing.” Some associate discipline with onerous and restrictive rules intended to enforce conformity. This conception of discipline maintains a negative connotation among more free-spirited people. However, I contend that discipline in service of just or noble ends is no vice. One can significantly enhance their abilities to achieve some desired end through discipline and adherence to a specific practice. In fact, without discipline, the concept of consistency implied in the invocation, one will be hard-pressed to realize their desired ends.

Not all things can come about merely by intending them to do so. Of course, intention is often necessary to achieve a desired end. However, usually, for one to achieve a desired end, one must both intend for an outcome and seek its realization through effortful action. This general characterization applies to a wide range of circumstances. Wishful thinking can only take you so far. At some point, to realize a vision, one must act in service of the vision. 
 
What I have laid out so far describes that action, not intention, is what is generally consequential. But my veneration for discipline goes beyond its role in achievement. That is because I believe specific disciplines to be revelatory. Disciplines or practices, such as yoga, meditation, running, political science, or faithfulness, can reveal aspects about yourself quite distinct from the supposed aims of a particular discipline. Certain practices are spiritual in nature and confer benefits that are not easily quantified or described. These disciplines can contain accumulated wisdom that facilitates the process of self-knowledge. Through consistent practice, one can refine the practice and use it to evaluate oneself from the regularized perspective gained through consistency. In short, discipline can provide a metric for self-assessment. Through that, one can learn their limits and thus themself.
 
I have discussed this topic somewhat abstractly and theoretically. Practically, discipline has helped me tremendously. I have suffered mightily during times of my life when I have struggled to maintain discipline, consistency, and positive habits. I would avoid discipline usually with the justification that discipline constrained my freedom in some way or another.  In embracing such a lifestyle, I would tend toward paths of least resistance. It was the way of the dilettante and charlatan, seeking acclaim and success without a genuine desire to do anything worthy of such recognition. Discipline helps me channel my ambitions into a framework that can be applied to productive use. Furthermore, some of the disciplines I have embraced help me to process suffering and boredom more effectively. To the extent that you can endure suffering, you can love life in all its manifestations. ​

During a lecture on addiction and attachment, a woman described having a co-dependent relationship with God and asked Ram Dass how not to feel that way.
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That was an interesting way to put that question. I thought about having a problematic worship practice or being holier than thou. He thought for a few moments and responded with something profound.

His approach to the question was instructive. He said that she is taking the “psycho-dynamics” from her temporal life and creating her concept of God from those experiences. Ram Dass said that God is everything, so you can use any metaphor you want. Thus, it’s telling that she’s transported that framework from her everyday life to her spiritual life. 
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He said she can embrace the part of herself that notices she’s trying to do that type of transposition—the more she notices it, the more she can respond more intentionally.
Finally, he said that she should move away from the personification of God (she used him) and instead sit by a stream. He suggested that she use more naturalistic metaphors for her conception of God. This struck me because I feel that running outside is a wonderful way to commune with the divine. ​

Revisiting My Life by Bill Clinton was a fascinating journey, offering me a chance to reflect on the presidency of Bill Clinton through a much richer lens than when I first encountered it in high school. At that time, I read only portions of the book, and while it piqued my interest, I lacked the perspective I’ve gained through graduate school, personal experience in politics, and years of studying the presidency. Returning to it now was a deeply nostalgic and intellectually engaging experience, particularly because Clinton’s presidency unfolded during my lifetime.

 ​This temporal proximity gave the book a unique resonance. Unlike Reaganland, Nixonland, or Robert Caro’s The Years of Lyndon Johnson—masterful political histories I’ve read that focus on eras before my time—Clinton’s narrative evokes personal memories and fragments of awareness. I was struck by how reading about familiar events, such as the Palestinian-Israeli peace negotiations, intertwined with my own hazy recollections from childhood. It was almost a sensation of déjà vu—an uncanny re-encounter with history I witnessed in fragments but could now understand within a broader context.

One of the book’s most compelling aspects is its insight into Clinton’s political philosophy and presidency. As the architect of the “Third Way,” Clinton charted a centrist course between conservatism and progressivism, advocating for welfare and criminal justice reforms while simultaneously investing in education, the environment, and social programs. His emphasis on globalization and free trade—especially through NAFTA—revealed a belief in adapting to a rapidly changing world, even though these policies had uneven consequences for different communities. The prosperity of the 1990s and the federal budget surpluses during his tenure speak to the success of his pragmatic and incremental governance, though the backlash and fallout from globalization remain critical lessons.

What struck me most, however, was Clinton’s unparalleled political acumen. He was a gifted communicator, able to articulate complex ideas in ways that resonated with ordinary Americans. His willingness to engage critics and defend his record stood out starkly as I read this book during the aftermath of Kamala Harris’s 2024 election loss to Donald Trump. Clinton’s approach to politics—his emphasis on responding directly and comprehensively to criticism—provides valuable lessons for any politician. He understood the importance of shaping public perception through engagement and clarity, ensuring people knew who he was and what he stood for.

Clinton also aspired to leave a legacy as a peacemaker. His efforts in brokering peace agreements in Northern Ireland, Israel and Palestine, and parts of Africa highlight the global impact of his presidency. While he fell short in achieving all his goals, his relentless pursuit of peace and his recognition of the presidency’s unique capacity to influence foreign policy are worthy of admiration.

As a memoir, My Life is engaging but somewhat narrow in scope. Its linear structure and focus on Clinton’s perspective make it feel a bit two-dimensional at times. While he is an insightful writer, his portrayal of events often lacks the critical distance or multidimensionality that might have offered a fuller picture. Nevertheless, Clinton shines as a teacher, imparting valuable lessons about politics, governance, and leadership. His reflections on his own rules of politics and the intricacies of the 1990s political landscape are thought-provoking and instructive.

Ultimately, My Life is both a compelling read and an instructive account of one of the most skilled politicians in American history. Clinton’s presidency, with its triumphs and missteps, offers much to learn—both in terms of what to emulate and what to avoid. For anyone interested in presidential history or the dynamics of 1990s politics, My Life is well worth the read.

What It Takes by Richard Ben Cramer is a monumental work, exploring the complex dynamics of the 1988 presidential election. Spanning over 1,000 pages, it covers the campaigns of George H.W. Bush, Michael Dukakis, Bob Dole, Dick Gephardt, Gary Hart, and Joe Biden, with appearances by figures like Al Gore and Jesse Jackson. 

Don DeLillo’s Underworld is, in many ways, the novel I thought I was going to write when I imagined my first book back in my early 20s. At that time, I had this idea for a novel tentatively titled Trash or Summa Americana, a wide-ranging postmodern exploration of trash and its intersection with violence and politics in the United States. But as I began to conceptualize it, I was intimidated by the sheer scale and complexity of the project—how to weave together multiple cities, characters, and intersecting plots into a cohesive narrative. And that’s exactly what DeLillo achieves in Underworld.

Theodore H. White’s The Making of the President 1960 is a captivating journalistic account of one of the most dynamic presidential elections in U.S. history. White offers readers a first-hand glimpse into the campaign machinery of some of the most prominent figures in 20th-century American politics, including John F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon, and Lyndon B. Johnson. His access to the inner workings of these campaigns, particularly Kennedy’s, provides an intimate view of the candidate’s strengths, weaknesses, and the broader political questions of the era.

David McCullough’s Truman is a sweeping, almost cinematic portrayal of an accidental president who defied every expectation. This is not just a biography; it’s an epic, a narrative of American grit and integrity wrapped up in the figure of Harry S. Truman.

Rick Perlstein’s Reaganland: America's Right Turn marks a fascinating continuation of his exploration into American political history. Having previously read Perlstein's Nixonland, I found the stylistic and tonal shifts in Reaganland to be quite pronounced. However, the book remains replete with the wide-ranging and meticulously researched evidence that characterizes Perlstein's work, showcasing his deep cultural understanding and the intricate ways in which culture, politics, and history intersect.

I am fascinated by the mountains. Mountaineering epics move me in ways that few other things do. I’m deeply inspired by the audacity and perseverance of the mountaineers that came before me. I’m curious to visit some of the world's tallest peaks to see what’s there. The metaphor entices me fundamentally.
 
Ambition, curiosity, and excitement attract me to mountaineering. When Greta and I moved to Seattle in 2021, Mt. Rainier was clearly visible many days of the year. After a few weeks in the city, I put the summit of Mt. Rainier on my bucket list. When I did so, I figured I was many years away from realizing this goal. Learning to glacier travel, manage crevasses, and utilize an ice axe seemed distant at the time. 

On the third day, we hiked from Paradise to Camp Muir. We hiked up in our boots without crampons or the ice axe. It was a strenuous hike. We hiked for about five hours and gained about 4800 feet in elevation. Camp Muir sits at 10,188 ft.

At this point, I was still stoked at the prospect of summiting Rainier. However, by this time, I realized that it wasn’t essential that I summited. I sensed no metaphysical need to climb to the top of the mountain. I didn’t envision something truly special and life-changing at the top. This is a rational calculation. However, it came at an inopportune time. I was high up on the mountain and set to make a summit push in a matter of hours. I had already spent thousands of dollars to get to this point. Something told me this was not the time to get flaky. I wasn’t fearful. I just felt cleareyed about the thing and wanted to set stiff guardrails for myself.
 
We left Camp Muir on June 12, around 1 a.m., a little later than we had anticipated. The guides were waiting for the winds to die down. Luckily, the waiting helped; the conditions were favorable for a summit push. I didn’t get much sleep between arriving at Camp Muir and the 1 a.m. wake-up, though I was awakened. I had only recently fallen asleep. I was still tired. I woke up and was not eager to hike up a cold, windy mountain in the dark. 

I got up. Ate breakfast. I got dressed. I didn’t say much. I was assigned to a group with Kevin, Alan, and Tom. This seemed to be a propitious pairing. Walt was the lead guide, and he teamed up with the Georgia boys. I took comfort in the fact that I was climbing with people with significant mountaineering experience and that the second guide was leading us. I figured that I would be the weakest link in my group, and that was likely the safest place to be. 

We traversed Cowlitz Glacier in the dead of night. It was very cold and windy, and visibility was low. I felt like every time I looked over the edge, I saw very ominous terrain—either a steep cliff or low purchase. I felt very insecure and vulnerable. The mountain was intimidating. 
The hike across Cowlitz was long, and we made it to Ingram Flats after about an hour and thirty minutes. At that point, I was considering going back down because I was extremely cold, and I was afraid of slipping and falling to my death. I was very concerned about dying because I had so much to live for. Being on a dangerous mountain with a wife and two young kids at home seemed reckless. Nevertheless, I pushed on.
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​Thought-provoking and, at times, hilarious. I’ve had bullshit jobs before, so I recognize the phenomenon. To summarize, people get paid because someone willing to pay prefers not to do the thing being paid for. Things worth doing are typically poorly paid or unpaid. Very few jobs are both interesting and highly paid. A substantial percentage of jobs are bullshit. What an interesting state of affairs!

A literary masterpiece and innovative journalistic account of a group at the center of a profoundly influential social movement. Hilarious, thought-provoking, and an absolute joy to read. Wolfe captures the ironical, anti(semi)-intellectual subtleties of the Merry Pranksters, a group easily caricatured. The Merry Pranksters used LCD to open their minds to new possibilities and ways of living. Beyond reappropriating Eastern or European lifestyle tropes for an American context, the group, led by Ken Kesey, cultivated an alternative lifestyle indigenous to the United States.

My new book of poetry "Lamentations, Renunciations, Bearing Witness" explores identity, society, and self amidst the anonymity of urban life. Set against the backdrop of American cities like Seattle, Los Angeles, and Chicago, the collection uses vivid poetic narratives to meditate on themes of alienation and the clash between individual desires and societal norms. The works seeks to use emotive language and rich imagery illuminate the personal and societal challenges that shape human experiences, making each poem a deep reflection on contemporary existence.

Barack Obama discusses race and identity from an introspective and multifaceted perspective. His evaluation is never too sure of itself, questioning, and reflective. Characters are given respect, though he mixes his judgment with apparently realistic, practical analysis. Their foibles and inconsistencies interweave with their superlative qualities to craft a humane diorama of one man's life in the presence of others. His characters evince a contrived quality as well. Their intonations often seem to reflect a composite attitude stereotypical of a certain type of person. Sometimes, the characters seem like vehicles for Obama to express ideas or opinions he would rather not have associated with the narrator.

I recently compiled a series of photos that I took over the course of several years called "Pit Stops and Panic Attacks." The photos in this collection depict the life of a road dog. In America, the road symbolizes opportunity. However, the streets are not without danger. Cars symbolize freedom, but their significant costs and risks are obsured by ubiquity. Can we imagine life without cars?