11
The politician stood there, frozen.
The wind was still blowing.
But it was no longer coming from outside.
Something was stirring inside his chest.
It was a feeling that he had avoided touching for a long time.
"Why did you become a politician?"
Paul Rusch asked quietly.
It was not a blaming voice.
It was a confirming voice.
The politician couldn't answer right away.
Many answers came to mind,
and then they all disappeared.
Elections.
Factions.
Supporters.
Seat.
Office.
He knew that none of them were the real answers.
Eventually, he quietly said.
"...I wanted to make my country a better place."
The words were surprisingly weak.
But they were not a lie.
Conrad Hilton nodded slightly.
"That's enough."
The politician looked up.
"Is that enough?"
Hilton answered.
"Yes."
"It's not the perfect reason that's important."
"A real reason."
He continued.
"People lose a lot along the way."
"In the busyness.
In the responsibility.
In the fear."
"But once a person has completely lost their original reason,
they can no longer do first-class work."
Something was beginning to unravel deep within the politician's heart.
A forgotten scene came to mind.
The day he ran for election for the first time.
The days he stood in front of the station, even when no one was listening.
An old man stopped and said.
"Good luck."
How happy those words made him.
At that time, he had nothing.
But he certainly had something.
Rush said.
"First class isn't a status."
"It's a state of being."
The politician repeated those words.
"...state."
"Yes."
"It's a state where you're facing the right direction every day."
"It's not about not making mistakes."
"It's a state where you can turn back when you make a mistake."
The wind blew quietly through.
It was no longer a cold breeze.
For the first time, the politician understood.
The wind was not an enemy.
The wind was not a punishment.
The wind was a signal that "it's not too late."
Hilton finally said.
"There's only one way to make a country first-class."
"Each individual needs to make their own job first-class."
Rush continued.
"Politicians are no exception."
"In fact, they're the ones who have to start first."
The night was slowly beginning to break.
The eastern sky was lightening slightly.
The politician took a slow breath.
And for the first time, he regained the sense of standing on his own two feet.
The wind was still blowing.
But now, he could read it.
It wasn't the wind of the end.
It was the wind of beginnings.
