It's 9AM

Why is Simple Never Easy?

Figure it out, she said.

It was half encouragement, half warning.

I knew what she meant.

It’s like knowing how to lose weight and not doing the very simple steps to do it.

Eat beef only for 30 days.

Only drink water.

Walk.

A lot.

A very simple formula that is extremely hard to do.

It’s boring.

And it doesn’t stimulate the dopamine centers.

We don’t get a hit every time we take a drink, or gameify getting fit.

But simple often works.

Often works best.

Walk to the store instead of driving.

Drink water instead of Coke.

Or beer.

Go for a long hike on the weekend for play instead of paying for anything else.

Simple.

Not always easy.

And not always the life we want to lead.

For me, it’s not just the end result of tight abs and feeling better.

It’s the journey.

Thirty days of deprivation isn’t anything.

I’ve done thirty days of hard stuff with my eyes closed.

Hard living, hard working, hard fun.

About the only thing I’ve skipped is hard time, and if you knew my ex- you might chalk that up too.

Just kidding.

She was a bear to live with, but I bet I was too, and like participating in a tornado of kindness can begat even more good times…

So can the bad.

A death spiral.

If you can survive it, then you know thirty days is nothing.

And the simple fact of your reading this means you survived.

A lot.

Seen a lot.

Done a lot.

Have hopes and dreams and learned ways and found the means.

Which is where I’m at.

Still learning, day in and day out.

Still building the means.

Day in and out.

Because even if I’m still figuring it out, I know the simple answer.

Head down.

Nose on the stone.

Doing the work.

Simple.

And when it’s all figured out, kinda easy.

What are you figuring out today?

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Chapter One

Boyd Hamilton sat at the desk and stared at the blank screen in front of him.

He could see the reflection of his handsome face.

The face that won the White House, a thousand headlines proclaimed the day after his sweeping November victory.

He could remember the feeling of winning, of crushing his competitions, even if he couldn’t recall much of the night.

A lot of celebratory champagne, and a staff intern before the win and his photogenic wife later.

A winner’s prerogative, he thought as he searched for a shred of that feeling somewhere inside.

All he could feel was a cold nugget of dread in his stomach.

An ache that no intern, or wife or gallons of champagne could sooth.

“Two minutes,” his chief of staff waved two fingers up like the peace sign.

Boyd wished for peace.

Wished it was an option.

He glanced up at the ceiling and marveled at the half mile of concrete that separated him from the surface.

He could hear people scurrying around him in the bunker. Staff, some of their family, if they made it in time, a few cabinet members and their family.

What was left of the government.

What remained to rebuild, he thought, and he wondered if the intern made it.

Her name was Sara, he reminded himself.

She was young, and attractive and they might need a thousand more just like her to repopulate, if they made it that far.

His wife allowed the discreet indiscretions, even if she disapproved, but if it came to reproducing, he thought she might draw the line.

The truth was, it was a question he was too afraid to ask, because asking might make her bring up the list of them.

Might add her own to the list, and Boyd wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it.

Some of them might be living down here with them for a very long time.

“Live in five, four…” he got the signal and the blank screen turned blue, and then he could see himself in the camera.

Boyd Hamilton sighed.

“My fellow Americans…” he began.