Nancy Braus, a retired independent bookseller, is a longtime activist. (This piece was written, and this week’s Voices section was prepared, before the outcome of the 2026 election, which you can see on the front page of this week’s newspaper.)
GUILFORD-If you are the kind of person who has deep passions, you probably have lived life as I have: Do whatever you feel is important, do it as well as you can, do it when you are needed, and then do more. The act of living has always involved being present for whatever I believed I had the power to be a part of or was my responsibility.
For seven decades, I’ve thrived on four hours of sleep a night, taking on whatever came my way.
That has meant ordering all the new books for Everyone’s Books and doing the wonderful work of building a community institution, raising three amazing daughters, being an integral part of my birth family, volunteering with the Sanders campaign, working in the ’80s against U.S. imperialism in Central America, doing my not-very-great-best to learn American Sign Language to communicate fully with my deaf daughter, following my passion for a second chance at love, and always getting outside on bike, foot, or cross-country skis.
I continue to wake up bursting with energy every day, feeling like I can do anything I set my mind to.
But about one year ago, my body finally rebelled, and some health challenges set in.
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I was one of the lucky ones — I have great healthcare, thanks to Medicare and a supplemental policy that we are fortunate to afford, as well as caring and wise practitioners. But this has taken a toll. I confess, with a certain amount of shame, that I get too beat by 8 or 9 p.m. to really do anything besides read or think in bed.
I was amazingly fortunate to sell my independent bookstore to a terrific new owner almost three years ago, and because we are all living with the consequences of a vastly unpopular but insane and power-hungry federal government, as well as an emergent politics of the left, it seemed like our “most popular governor in the country” had lost some steam, and we could elect a governor who was prepared to stand up for Vermonters in the face of Trumpism.
And it also appeared that nobody had stepped up to the job. In February, I sent an email to 40 or so people involved in Vermont political life who I even knew peripherally.
I sent the strongest plea I could make for someone, anyone, who might have the skills, the commitment, the experience, and the strength to take on Phil Scott as he expected to waltz into term No. 6 seamlessly, just expecting Vermonters to behave like sheep and re-elect him.
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About two weeks later, I got a call from this Amanda Janoo person, who was clear that she would be running for governor. We spoke for about 20 minutes, and I thought, “She sounds great, but who ever heard of her?”
Before we ended our conversation, she told me to watch a couple of videos she was sending me.
As soon as I saw Amanda on video speaking before a crowd, I knew she had a spark, something that would appeal to a lot more folks than just me!
Aly Richards proved a tough and worthy primary opponent. We all witnessed the way Amanda and Aly were able to express their policy and style differences without hostility and with respect. Their contest should be a template for other races, but we live in an environment of competition that seems to equal hostility.
Windham County’s volunteer network has done all the things: outreach, fundraising, visibility, and expanding our wide network of supporters. And I have had the privilege of helping lead this county effort — a fulfilling and exciting job!
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But on one recent day, I felt like I had reached a turning point: I fully expected to leave my house at 5:15 a.m. to join a large effort to express our rage at the tactics and outcomes of the Trump regime’s immigration policies. That week thousands of Vermonters were participating in shut down ice vt.
When I woke up that day, I realized that I had to respect what my body was telling me, which was: You have Janoo work every day in the near future, and this is too much.
It is not easy to admit that the goals I set for myself will not all be met.
We all come up against the same limit in our lives, because none of us live forever, even if we are self-obsessed billionaires eating two meals of meat and ferments a day, and shooting themselves full of the longevity equivalent of 19th-century patent medicine.
But, limit or no limit, I am so fortunate to be able to do the work I am able to do with an amazing crew of people who are committed as I am to an economic, social, and political justice agenda.
Every day, I wake up excited about what I will do that day, and to plan for the next. And facing limits is going to be part of this getting older thing.
I am not the best at this, but like all things, if I am lucky and have learned anything in the course of a lifetime, I can adapt. Not necessarily graciously, not without complaints.
Because, to use the oldest cliché, what is the alternative?
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