Comeback Kid

Hometown journal

Dear Radio Free Pizza gourmets,

I’m writing this from a place where the streets still remember my footsteps: the slow ones of childhood, the hurried ones of adolescence, and now these more thoughtful steps of return—streets I remember all too well. Yes, after the Mexican saga that I detailed in my March journal—confronting the emotional and financial fallout of a failed real estate investment—and now jobless, I’m back in my hometown of Minneapolis, which longtime readers will remember from my January 2024 dispatch examining the mainstream narrative of George Floyd’s death in 2020 and the city’s ongoing unrest.

Since coming back in April, I’ve felt like a prodigal son returned—carrying the weight of my mistakes and losses, which since my last journal have only multiplied, I’m altogether devastated by how far I’ve fallen. Every day feels like a struggle to reclaim the life I once had, haunted by regret but also holding onto a flicker of hope that restoration is possible. The journey back has been painful, but I’m determined to rise from this broken place stronger and wiser.

Yours truly, frazzled

Still, I’m not just haunted by past mistakes, but terrorized to consider the present. When I departed the U.S. last year, I had growing concerns about political violence and unrest. Those realities now feel too close for comfort. Just yesterday, that fear was made tragically real again in Minnesota: Democratic state leader Melissa Hortman and her husband were fatally shot in their home, and another lawmaker, John Hoffman, and his wife were critically wounded in a related overnight attack. The suspect, dressed as a police officer, exchanged gunfire with real officers. Following this, authorities launched a massive manhunt with roadblocks and tactical teams searching the area, and remains at large. Authorities recovered writings naming multiple lawmakers multiple firearms inside a fake police car, and linked the shooter to a private armed security firm.

Governor and 2024 Democratic vice presidential candidate Tim Walz and national leaders condemned the attack as part of a disturbing trend of violence against public officials, highlighting deep political divisions. The Minnesota iteration of the “No Kings” protests were canceled due to safety concerns, though they proceeded yesterday in nearly 2,000 locations across the U.S. to oppose President Trump’s recent immigration raids and the deployment of National Guard and Marines to Los Angeles, where clashes with protesters had turned violent. Still, local demonstrators nonetheless gathered peacefully.

Later that evening, Washington, D.C. hosted a massive military parade celebrating the U.S. Army’s 250th anniversary and coinciding with Trump’s 79th birthday. The event featured tanks, helicopters, 6,600 troops, and flyovers, fulfilling Trump’s long-standing desire for a grand display of American military power. However, the spectacle drew widespread criticism and sparked protests in Washington and across the country, where demonstrators accused Trump of politicizing the military and behaving like a dictator.

Product of stable diffusion (“Protesters demonstrating against a military parade.”)

Protesters held signs, marched toward the White House, and staged satirical displays, including a Trump puppet on a golden toilet. Critics also objected to the parade’s $45 million cost and the potential damage to city infrastructure. A majority of Americans surveyed said it was not a good use of government funds. The parade included historical military reenactments, armored vehicles, and a concert with fireworks. Trump planned to swear in 250 troops at the event’s conclusion. The day underscored deep divisions in the country, with Trump brushing off protests and weather concerns, vowing the parade would go on “rain or shine.”

And yet, in the midst of national chaos and personal grief, I’ve found myself needing more than just headlines to make sense of the world—I’ve needed stillness. The violence in my own backyard, the spectacle in Washington, and the tremors of unrest shaking the nation only deepen the urgency I feel to re-root myself. Not in cynicism, but in something quieter, older, and more true. Coming home now—to the very place where so many of those worries took root in my heart—is more than just a physical move: it’s spiritual. After all the motion, ambition, and the often-chaotic chase of the past season, something in me needed grounding. Not just in geography, but in soul.

Minneapolis has seen the best and worst of me. It has known my rising hopes and (at least a few of) my quiet defeats. Still, finding spiritual grounding here feels like trying to pray through an earthquake—each moment of stillness shattered by the tremors of political unrest and a nation on edge. But despite all that, I return not as someone looking backward, but as someone anchoring a fresh burst of forward momentum. As Daniel G. Amen wrote in Conquer Worry and Anxiety (2020), “people who do not give up interpret […[ setbacks as temporary as opposed to permanent; limited instead of pervasive; and changeable instead of out of their control.” For that reason, he offers the formula that optimism plus reality equals resilience.

This formula offers an interesting contribution to my dispatch from last November on what I called “Liberation Vitalism”: there, I presented resilience as a deep, spiritual response to crisis that involves wrestling with complex social, theological, and philosophical challenges. In that context, resilience becomes a sacred, communal strength rooted in intrinsic cosmic values, nurtured by spiritual traditions and community, and expressed through courageous action to transform suffering and build a just, flourishing world.

Now, in these turbulent times—both personal and national—I am learning that resilience is not merely about surviving hardship but about embracing the tension between hope and reality, pain and possibility. Returning to Minneapolis has brought me face-to-face with the fractures in my own life and in the society around me, yet it has also offered a chance to root myself anew in faith, community, and purpose: hence, some of my recent dalliances organizing with the Minneapolis branch of the Center for Political Innovation.

As I move forward, I carry with me the conviction that true resilience calls for steadfast courage, honest reckoning, and a commitment to transformative action. It is in this spirit that I continue to walk these streets—old and familiar—seeking not just restoration, but renewal, not just endurance, but meaningful change.

Accordingly, I’m working to anchor myself in a deeper truth: I haven’t missed my calling. I haven’t forfeited my future, and I am still becoming. Being here doesn’t mean I’m settling: it means I’m healing. I’m building something again. Brick by brick. Prayer by prayer. Dream by dream. There’s power in that—in starting from the ground you first sprang from.

For those of you walking through your own season of rebuilding—I see you. Sometimes, the comeback starts right where it all began.