Every election season produces a familiar ritual. Candidates run on ideas, critiques, promises and energy. Voters choose. Ballots are counted. And then, almost overnight, something profound happens.
Critics become decisionmakers.
That transition is far harder than most people expect. And for many newly elected officials, the first term, especially the first year, is the hardest one they’ll ever face.
I know this because my own introduction to governing was anything but smooth.
When I was first elected to the Tenino City Council, the learning curve wasn’t just steep, it was vertical. My first year and a half in office coincided with one of the most stressful and chaotic periods in the city’s modern history.
Tenino became a regular feature in regional headlines. Seattle-area papers ran stories with titles like “Tumultuous Tenino,” chronicling a small town wrestling publicly with big dysfunction, internal conflict and a brand new mayor trying to find his footing in a world he didn’t fully understand.
It was uncomfortable. It was exhausting. And it was formative. As they say, smooth seas do not make good sailors.
From the outside, leadership looks like authority. From the inside, it feels a lot more like responsibility, often heavy, often lonely and almost always accompanied by incomplete information.
As a candidate, it’s easy to identify what’s wrong. You have the luxury of clarity. You see problems in black and white. You promise to fix things quickly, decisively, and better than those who came before you. That mindset is not dishonest. It’s necessary to run for office. But governing is different.
Once you’re sworn in, the world becomes more complicated.
Suddenly, you’re responsible not just for outcomes, but for consequences. Not just for the decisions, but also for how those decisions ripple through budgets, staff, unions, courts, contracts, laws and real people’s lives. You learn quickly (or you should) that many problems exist not because no one noticed them before, but because they are genuinely hard problems to solve. Government is tasked with many problems that do not have one simple answer — and if it does, then they most likely already solved it without anyone noticing.
You also learn something else: you rarely have perfect information.
Decisions often have to be made before all the facts are known, before emotions settle, before systems catch up. You listen. You ask questions. You read the briefing materials (or you should) and then, eventually, the decision still lands on your desk. There’s no gallery pass for uncertainty. At some point, someone has to choose a direction, and that someone is you.
That moment can feel isolating.
No one warns you how quiet the room gets when it’s time to vote. How the applause fades. How the emails keep coming. How criticism feels different when you’re accountable for the result, not just the argument.
During my early years in Tenino, I made mistakes. Some were public, some were loud and some were well-intentioned but poorly executed. And yes, some earned headlines. But those experiences taught me lessons I still carry today: humility matters more than confidence, listening matters more than speaking, and progress rarely comes from trying to win every argument. I also learned that perfect rarely exists and the idea of “perfect” cannot be the enemy of progress.
Over time, the chaos settled. The noise faded. Trust slowly was rebuilt and I learned that leadership isn’t about proving you were right as a candidate. Leadership is about doing what’s right as a steward.
That lesson applies just as much today as it did then.
To those newly elected this year, whether you’re stepping into a council seat, a school board, a fire commission or any other role, here’s what I wish someone had told me early on:
Your first year will stretch you. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing.
You will discover that governing is less about vision statements and more about process. You are responsible for the process. It’s less about grand speeches and more about building relationships. I tell this to every newly elected official, and it’s often neglected. It’s less about being “bold” and more about being steady.
You’ll realize that many of the people you once criticized are carrying burdens you never saw or didn’t recognize. You’ll gain a deeper appreciation for the staff who keep institutions running long after elections are over (or you should) and you’ll understand why some decisions take longer than you’d like, not because of resistance, but because durability matters.
You may also feel alone at times. That’s normal and comes with the territory.
Leadership isn’t lonely because you’re isolated; it’s lonely because responsibility can’t be delegated. You have to own it. Advice can be shared and input can be gathered, but the final call still belongs to you, and you have to make it.
Over time, something shifts. The instinct to react gives way to the discipline to reflect. The urge to fix everything immediately softens into a commitment to fix things correctly. The work becomes quieter, but more meaningful. Rash decisions driven by emotion will fade into decisions made with information, true analysis and collaboration.
And one day, you’ll realize that the hardest year was also the one that taught you how to govern.
Looking back, I’m grateful for those early challenges in Tenino, even the headlines I’d rather forget. They shaped the leader I became and the perspective I bring to public service today. They taught me that governing isn’t about being remembered as the loudest voice in the room, but as the person who showed up, listened, learned and stayed when things were hard.
Democracy depends on transitions, not just of power, but of mindset. We need candidates who are willing to challenge the status quo, and we need leaders who are willing to carry the weight that comes after winning.
If you’re new to this work, give yourself grace and ask questions. Listen more than you speak, and remember; the hardest year isn’t a test of whether you belong, it’s the year that teaches you how to (or it should).
The work gets steadier. The noise fades and, if you do it right, your community will be stronger for it.
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Wayne Fournier is a Thurston County commissioner, former Tenino mayor, firefighter and lifelong community advocate. His column appears in The Chronicle every two weeks.
