Opinion: Why I Ran for Governor of Oregon

I wanted Mom to open her ballot this fall and see my name. I wanted to sit across the kitchen table from her when she found it. She’s seen my name on the cover of a book. She knows what my voice sounds like on a record. But I would have liked to see her face when she got to the race for governor and saw her son’s name there.

I decided to run for governor of Oregon in April 2025. I was thirty-five, I ran as an Independent, and I became the first openly gay man to seek the office. I withdrew last December. I’ve had months to get used to that decision. What I keep coming back to this Election Day is why I wanted the job in the first place.

I wanted to ease some of what my fellow Oregonians are going through. Consider what happens when a parent gets offered an extra shift on Thursday. Before they can tell the boss yes, they have to find out who can watch their child and how much another day of childcare will cost. Then comes the arithmetic. After childcare and gas, how much of that day’s pay will actually make it home? I wanted families to be able to work without worrying about how to pay for childcare. It bothers me that we praise parents for working hard while leaving some of them in a position where turning down paid work is the only decision they can afford.

I wanted seniors to be able to live tax-free. That was an ambitious proposal, and Oregonians were entitled to ask how I would pay for it. What moved me was the thought of someone who had worked for forty or fifty years, paid the bills, and reached retirement believing the house was finally theirs to grow old in. It’s easy enough for someone else to say they can sell. Across the street may be the neighbor who has a spare key and knows to come over if the curtains are still drawn at noon. What would it cost to start over somewhere nobody knows to look? I wanted older Oregonians to have the last word about when they leave their homes.

I wanted teachers, nurses, and EMTs to earn more. Think about a family on the night someone is rushed to the hospital. An EMT kneels beside a person they love. A nurse takes the time to explain something twice because the family was too frightened to hear it the first time. The next morning, a teacher notices that a child who usually has plenty to say hasn’t spoken all day. Each of those professionals has a household to support when the shift or the school day ends. Their pay ought to reflect the skill and judgment we count on from them.

Here in Florence, it’s easy to admire a fishing boat at the dock without giving much thought to the repair bill waiting for its owner. I wanted Oregon’s fishermen, farmers, and ranchers to thrive. One measure of that is whether a daughter who has learned to run a boat alongside her dad can earn a living when he hands her the keys. Another is whether a family that has worked the same ground for years can afford to bring the next generation into the business. I wanted the decision to come home to be a real choice for the people making it.

Energy independence was another reason I ran. I’ve invented new technologies, including a new way to extract geothermal energy. I pursued that idea because I wanted Oregon to get off fossil fuels and produce energy we could depend on here. What interested me about geothermal energy was the possibility that the heat beneath our feet could help warm the homes our grandchildren will live in. I wanted Oregon to leave them that kind of independence.

I chose to run as an Independent because I believe a governor should vow to represent everyone in the state. Take away the obligation to answer to a party, and the people are still there to answer to. The man who spent his Saturdays knocking on doors for an opponent has as much right to call the governor’s office as the woman who put the winner’s sign in her yard. If a decision I made was going to cost him something, I owed him an explanation I’d be willing to give him across his own kitchen table.

I believed in Oregonians and their ability to think for themselves. I still do. A retired teacher could agree with me about wages and have serious questions about my tax proposal. A rancher could hear me out on geothermal energy and raise a concern about land or water that I hadn’t considered. I wanted them both at the table. Asking someone for their vote hardly makes you the better judge of what goes on in their life.

I know how easy it is to miss part of a story, even in my own family. Before I was born, Mom and Dad planned to become lighthouse keepers at Heceta Head. When Mom learned she was pregnant with me, they went back to Eugene. I’ve told that story for years. It took me until I was thirty-six to realize how quickly I got to the part about me.

Sometimes I picture Mom standing there, the same wind gracing her face that graces mine today. The waves still break on the same beach. I wish I could stand beside her for a minute. I’d like to tell her I’m sorry it took me so long to ask what she wanted for herself when she looked up at that lighthouse. And if she asked about the baby, I know what I’d say.

Your son will grow up to be a good man with a good heart. He’ll fall in love with and marry a man named Josh. One day your son will run for governor of Oregon. He’ll try to make a difference, and he’ll fail at something he wanted very much. It’ll hurt. And when he finds the strength to try his hand at something else, a good share of that strength will have come from you.

When Mom was young, she sang with the band Happy Dayz. Long before I became a recording artist, she sang me to sleep with “Amazing Grace” and “Walkin’ After Midnight.” Some people hear that second song and think of Patsy Cline. I hear Mom. One of these days I’d like to ask her to sing “Amazing Grace” for me again. All those years she sang it hoping I’d fall asleep. This time I’d like to stay awake for the whole song.

I’ve been visiting Florence and vacationing here since I was a baby. Woahink Lake came later. I was twenty-one the first summer I went, and I’ve gone back every summer since. Years later, Josh and I came to Florence on our second date. This July, we moved here. My parents left this coast carrying me, I grew up and brought my parents and the man I love back here to stay.

That’s what I hope Oregon’s next governor remembers. Tomorrow morning, somebody will still have to make that call about Thursday. A senior will open the property tax bill. A fisherman will get an estimate on a repair and decide whether the boat goes out. They may have marked different names on their ballots. Each of them is owed the same attention once the votes are counted.

I wish Mom could have voted for me. I’m glad I tried. And as for that moment we missed at the kitchen table, there’s another I can still have. I can call her, ask her to take a drive up to Heceta Head, and let her tell me what she saw from that beach before I came along. This time I’ll let her start the story.