When I first showed up, I thought I was joining an army.

I walked into that room — ready to answer the call, ready to defend what I believed in — and found just a handful of people sitting around a single pizza box.

We called ourselves the “ONE pizza caucus” back then.
Because, quite literally, one pizza was enough to feed all of us.

No headlines.
No giant rallies.
No cavalry.

Just a few ordinary people who cared enough to show up.

And yet, something powerful happened:
We got to work.
We started organizing, calling, door-knocking, building relationships, learning by doing.
And slowly, stubbornly, the “ONE pizza caucus” grew into something real — something that would eventually help change the political landscape of our district.

We weren’t the smartest.
We weren’t the most connected.
We certainly weren’t the most powerful.

But we showed up.

And showing up — again and again, imperfectly but consistently — made all the difference.

In those early days, when our little group first got together, we made a decision:
We were going to get a Democrat elected to the Arizona State Legislature within a decade.

It sounded ambitious. Maybe even impossible.

But we believed it could be done — and we got to work.

And you know what?
We did it.

In 2018, my friend and running mate, Jennifer Pawlik, won — becoming the first Democrat and the first woman ever to represent our district.

Sure, it hurt that I didn’t win.
It was close, but I lost. No sugarcoating it.

But honestly?
I was proud.

Proud that our combined effort — the relentless work of a relatively small group of citizens — had made real, lasting change happen.

Our “single shot” strategy had worked.

And the most profound thing I learned was this:
It didn’t take an army.
It didn’t take millions of dollars.
It didn’t take national fame.

It took a handful of ordinary people who, despite jobs and families and the constant pressures of daily life, decided that their community was worth fighting for.

That experience — living through the blood, sweat, tears, glory, and internal chaos that democracy demands — changed me forever.

We scream and yell about politics every day now.
But how often do we really sit back and think about how democracy actually works — or what it costs to keep it alive?

Politicians don’t exist in a vacuum.
They mirror us — all of us — with all our hopes, flaws, fears, and dreams.

Every era gets the leaders it earns — for better or worse.

And democracy?
It isn’t self-sustaining.
It isn’t automatic.

It demands participation.

It demands vigilance.

It demands that enough ordinary people choose, again and again, to step forward.

Democracy isn’t a spectator sport.
It’s a full-contact, messy, exhausting, glorious fight.
And it only survives because ordinary people — messy, exhausted, glorious — keep showing up.

We are the cavalry.

It’s time to ride.

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🧭 About This Series

We Are the Cavalry is a 5-part series about democracy — and the quiet, courageous force that keeps it alive: ordinary citizens.

Each week, I’ll explore a different dimension of what it means to show up, take responsibility, and protect the fragile system we inherited — and must now defend.

Here’s what’s ahead:
• Part 2: The Myth of the Cavalry — why no one is coming to save us
• Part 3: Fragile by Design — why democracy must be protected by participation
• Part 4: A Time for Choosing (Again) — every generation faces a test
• Part 5: Ordinary People, Extraordinary Impact — the hope that still remains

If this resonated with you, I hope you’ll follow along — and maybe share your own story.

The cavalry isn’t coming.
Because it’s always been us.