The Work of Citizenship

In small towns like ours, you learn early that democracy doesn't live in Washington. It lives here. It lives in the people who show up week after week to keep life moving. The veterans who keep serving long after their uniform has been folded and packed away, the parents at school board meetings, the volunteer firefighter who leaves the dinner table when the alarm sounds, and the teacher who stays late to help a struggling student. These are the quiet acts of citizenship that keep our communities alive, and they remind me how much a place can depend on ordinary people doing the right thing.

I learned that lesson firsthand when I enlisted in the U.S. Army in 2012 as a Russian Cryptologic Linguist. I wasn't thinking about politics. I was thinking about service. About doing my part to hold up the promise we make to one another as Americans. The Army taught me that service isn't a job; it's a mindset. Whether you're in uniform or back home in Vermont, it's the same promise to keep showing up for the people around you. And that promise doesn't end when the uniform comes off. It continues in the quiet, unglamorous work of citizenship that keeps Vermont strong.

Democracy doesn’t live in Washington. It lives here.

That's why Veterans Day means something deeply personal to me. It's about remembering that freedom is something we build together, because it either belongs to everyone or to no one. The veterans who came before us fought to preserve that idea. Our job now is to live it, to show that patriotism isn't a show; it's a habit grounded in courage, honesty, and the belief that we can always do better together.

That's why service belongs to all of us. You don't need a uniform or a title to serve your country. Some people serve by voting or teaching. Others do it quietly, by mentoring a student, serving on a board, or listening when another person's story doesn't match their own. Sometimes it means speaking up for what's right, even when it costs you something. Service isn't about recognition; it's about responsibility and about showing up even when no one's looking.

The veterans I know still find ways to serve. Some coach youth sports or sort donations at their local food bank. Others mentor a student who needs someone to believe in them. They remind me that service takes a hundred small forms, and that the real strength of a community comes from people who keep showing up even when no one's keeping score.

There's a quiet power in that kind of perseverance. It's the same power that built this country, not wealth or fame, but the steady commitment that lasts. Democracy depends on citizens who do the work of self-government, even when it's messy or slow, even when progress feels impossible.

That's the lesson that has stayed with me from my own time in uniform. The veterans I served with came from every imaginable background. We didn't always agree, but we learned to trust one another. Unity never meant we all thought the same way. It simply meant showing up. I think about that now when I walk into a meeting and see neighbors who disagree but still show up. It's easy to believe the cracks in our democracy are permanent, but they're not. It does, however, depend on what we choose to do next.

If our democracy endures, it won't be because of what happens in Washington. It'll be because people in towns like ours keep showing up for each other, including the veterans who still show us every day what service really means.

That's the quiet power of citizenship. That's what holds a town and a country together.