Reflections on the State of the Union Experience

Back in 2018, I had the chance to attend the State of the Union as a guest of Senator Marsha Blackburn from Tennessee. The atmosphere was electric—more like a showcase of political drama than a formal gathering. Honestly, it felt cramped, almost like a pressure cooker. And those gallery seats? Definitely designed for people who are rather petite.

We showed up early, which meant a considerable amount of waiting. I started chatting with the person sitting just behind me on the left, and it turned out to be Bill Nye. He was genuinely kind, and I couldn’t help but think how my kids were big fans of his shows. We chatted for a bit, sharing a brief connection amidst the bustling crowd.

After Trump’s speech, as folks began to filter out, I was compelled to reach out to Bill again. His response? “He didn’t talk about space.” Not a monumental statement, but it resonated. Here we were, witnessing a unique moment in history, and Bill, a space expert, pointed out a glaring absence.

A lot has transpired in the American space program since that night. I recall Bill mentioning that while he disagreed with certain points, there was still something significant happening. Yet, I’ve found it hard to identify exactly what that was.

Seeing Bill at a recent No Kings rally got me pondering a crucial question: Are we willing to acknowledge truths, even when they involve people we might not like?

We often hear about following science—it’s touted as an essential principle. But really, are we ready to adhere to it? If we start from the notion that someone is beyond redemption, we reject everything that individual does. This stance doesn’t allow for a fair evaluation of the evidence at hand. We end up simply defending our preconceived conclusions.

History has shown us that once someone confronts the concept of truth, questions arise—like “What is truth?”—but often it’s not about a lack of answers; it’s about pre-decided beliefs and the costs associated with accepting them.

Truth isn’t elusive, but it can become challenging to accept when it demands sacrifices. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of a better path.

I remember vividly my wife, Gracie, performing at the inauguration of the Tennessee governor. Harold Ford Jr., who was a young congressman at the time, was in attendance. After Gracie’s performance, a notable crowd gathered, but Harold walked right over to us.

We didn’t just shake hands and move on—he engaged in conversation. He asked questions and showed genuine interest. A few days later, we found ourselves on the same flight to Washington. Gracie was headed to perform at Walter Reed for injured soldiers, and once again, Harold approached us. Same sincerity, same curiosity.

We may not have crossed paths since then, but I still watch him on “The Five.” I don’t agree with everything he says, but I appreciate his measured approach. He recognizes when to give credit, poses thought-provoking questions, and seeks common ground, treating individuals as unique rather than labels.

That impression has lingered with me.

Recently, I witnessed something that would have seemed bizarre not long ago: an exchange between Senator John Fetterman and Mark Levin. If talk radio were music, I’d say Rush Limbaugh represented a virtuoso, while Levin was more heavy metal.

Yet there they were, engaged in conversation, asking meaningful questions and sharing thoughtful responses without any rush to score points. It felt so… normal. Why did it feel so out of the ordinary?

For my entire life, I’ve been thrust into situations where I had no say over who cared for my wife—be it nurses, surgeons, or specialists—individuals from various backgrounds and beliefs.

I’ve watched medical professionals don pronouns on their badges, and yes, I’ve internally sighed and questioned the rationale behind it. Still, Gracie needed the best care possible.

At that moment, my irritation didn’t serve anyone. So, I decided to engage instead. I learned to listen, observe, and differentiate between my feelings and the reality before me.

People of integrity have a responsibility to treat everyone equally, regardless of personal feelings or disagreements.

The next time you hear something nice about someone you can’t stand, consider this: Even if I don’t like this person, is what’s being said objectively true?

You don’t have to change your opinions or votes, but you do have to make a choice between following facts or sticking to a narrative.

In a world where people rely on your decisions, rigidly clinging to your preferred story isn’t just lazy; it can have real consequences.

Should you dare to set aside your narrative, even temporarily, you may uncover something more valuable than being right.

You might just find clarity. And in today’s noisy world, that’s significant.