How a Summer at the State Capitol Shaped My Career

As I prepare for the National ATM Council Fly-In in Washington, D.C., I find myself thinking about another trip to a Capitol building years ago.

At the time, I thought I was starting a summer job.

I had no idea I was beginning an education that would shape every chapter of my career.

Learning to Ask Questions

Looking back, I realize that education began long before I ever set foot in the Capitol.

I didn’t realize my childhood was unusual. Looking back, I do now.

Both of my parents were teachers, so learning didn’t stop when the school bell rang. Every evening, we’d watch the news together. Dinner wasn’t just about how school went that day. We talked about current events, why something happened, and what history could teach us about today.

My dad had a gift for turning history into life lessons. Our family vacations often included historic sites and his favorite destinations: Civil War battlefields.

He’d ask us to imagine the smoke, the horses, the sound of cannon fire, and the impossible decisions people had to make.

Then he’d ask:

What would you have done?

Why do you think they made that decision?

What happened next?

He wanted us to understand that history wasn’t just about the past. It was about people.

It wasn’t a ten-year-old girl’s idea of a fun vacation. But looking back, I wouldn’t trade those trips for anything. They taught me that if you want to understand what’s happening today, you first have to understand the past — what people believed, why they believed it, and how those decisions shaped the future.

As I got older, those dinner conversations expanded to include politics. Not political parties. Public policy. Taxes. Education. The decisions that affect people’s everyday lives.

When I got my first paycheck, I couldn’t believe how much disappeared before I ever saw it. I had questions, and my parents welcomed every one of them.

Looking back, I realize they weren’t just answering my questions. They were teaching me how to think for myself.

That curiosity eventually led me to ask a family friend who served as a state representative if he might have a summer job open on his staff. Instead, he asked if I’d like to serve as a page in the Louisiana House of Representatives.

I didn’t hesitate.

My mom had served as a page when she was my age, and I’d grown up hearing her stories about the Capitol. Years later I realize I wasn’t just saying yes to a summer job. I was saying yes to an opportunity that would shape the rest of my life.

I had just graduated from high school. I was eighteen years old. I had no idea that one summer would change the direction of my life and my career.

Government is About People

A few weeks later, I packed my bags and moved to Baton Rouge. It was my first time living away from home.

Like most people, I thought government was about politics. That summer, I discovered it was about people.

As a page in the Louisiana House of Representatives, I spent my days carrying messages, running errands, and helping keep the House moving. But the education I received was priceless.

That summer, I had fun.

A lot of fun.

But mostly, I watched, listened, and learned.

When the House went into committee, we had a lot of freedom. Some pages went shopping. Some met friends for lunch. I explored the Capitol.

I wandered into committee meetings simply because I was curious. I wanted to understand how decisions were really made. But every afternoon, I couldn’t wait for the House to go into session.

I’d watch legislators debate, see amendments introduced, and watch bills change in real time. I’d learned in school how a bill became a law. Watching it happen was something entirely different.

I didn’t know much about Democrats versus Republicans at the time. It was the process that fascinated me — how ideas became legislation, how quickly amendments could change a bill, and how thoughtful debate sometimes changed minds.

But what surprised me most wasn’t the legislative process. It was the people.

Every day, constituents lined up outside the House chamber waiting to speak with their representatives. Our job was to hand each visitor a form to fill out, deliver it to the legislator, and let them know a constituent was waiting.

A few minutes later, the legislator would step outside the chamber to meet face-to-face with the people they represented.

I’d never imagined government worked that way.

It felt accessible. Personal. Human.

Every afternoon, there were receptions hosted by trade associations, lobbyists, and advocacy organizations. I’ll admit, I went for the free food. But I stayed for the conversations.

It wasn't until a few years later did I realize that summer taught me one of the most important lessons of my career.

I walked into the Capitol thinking government was about politics.

I walked out realizing it was about people.

One Conversation that Changed How I Saw Myself

As summer came to an end, I started thinking about going home. I’d learned more than I ever expected, made new friends, experienced life away from home for the first time, and discovered a side of government I’d never known existed.

Then, on my last day at the Capitol, something unexpected happened.

I was grabbing a Diet Coke when I struck up a conversation with Mary Landrieu, one of the legislators I’d admired all summer. I admired her because she was thoughtful, prepared, confident, and an exceptional communicator.

We talked for a few minutes. Then she asked me a question I wasn’t expecting.

“Are you planning to go to law school?”

Wait. What? I hadn’t considered it before.

Then she asked another question that surprised me even more.

“Have you ever thought about running for office?”

Me?

No one had ever asked me those questions before. Was that even a possibility?

She encouraged me to stay involved in public service, no matter what career I chose. Years later, I realize she gave me something much more valuable than career advice. She saw something in me I hadn’t yet seen in myself.

For a while, I seriously considered law school. I even thought about becoming a lobbyist. The following summer, I returned to Baton Rouge to work in the Louisiana Senate. The next summer, I volunteered at the Republican National Convention in my hometown of New Orleans.

My career ultimately took a different path. But sometimes all it takes is one person who sees potential you haven’t yet seen in yourself. Sometimes that’s all it takes to build your confidence.

For me, that happened on my last day as a page in the Louisiana House of Representatives.

Years later, I realize that one conversation changed the trajectory of my career — not because it gave me the answers, but because it made me ask bigger questions.

Coming Full Circle

Several years later, I joined the Louisiana Credit Union League, where advocacy became an important part of my job.

Part of my responsibility was monitoring state and federal legislation, regulatory developments, and public policy issues affecting Louisiana’s credit unions and the members they served.

Each year, we organized a Governmental Affairs Conference in Baton Rouge and attended one in Washington, D.C. We met with legislators and shared our perspective on issues that mattered to credit unions and their members.

When we organized Louisiana’s first state Governmental Affairs Conference, many of our members had never been to the Capitol or met with a state legislator before.

Once we arrived at the Capitol, it became clear my boss wasn’t completely sure how to request a meeting with a legislator.

I leaned over and whispered, “I know how this works. I’ve done this.”

She smiled.

“Great,” she said. “Then take the lead.”

So I did.

I helped our members find their legislators, explained how to fill out the form, told them what to expect, and made sure they felt comfortable talking to their representative.

I also remember giving them advice I’ve repeated countless times since.

Don’t just ask for support.

Thank them for their time.

Offer to be a resource.

Invite them to visit your credit union.

Offer to host a community event.

Relationships don’t begin when you need something.

They’re built long before that.

Sometime during that first conference, I realized everything I had learned as a teenager working as a page had come full circle.

Those summers hadn’t just prepared me to understand government. They had prepared me to become a better communicator — and to help other people navigate the legislative process.

A Conversation Remembered

One trip to Washington was different.

I found myself seated next to Senator Mary Landrieu at a luncheon. It had been years since we’d spoken.

I reminded her of our conversation during my last day as a page in the Louisiana House of Representatives.

She didn’t remember.

I understood why. She’d met thousands of people since then.

But I did.

I remembered the Diet Coke, the questions she asked, and how one conversation had challenged me to think bigger.

She was happy to hear I’d stayed involved in public service and advocacy. As we talked, I couldn’t help but think how remarkable it was that our paths had crossed again.

This time, I wasn’t the teenage page listening from the sidelines. I was there representing Louisiana’s credit unions.

That experience taught me something else.

Not every meaningful conversation is memorable to both people.

Sometimes, the person who has an impact on your life never knows they did.

The Lessons Continue

In a few weeks, I’ll be walking the halls of Congress again. This time, I’ll be representing the ATM industry as part of the National ATM Council’s annual DC Fly-In.

In a few weeks, I’ll be walking the halls of Congress again. This time, I’ll be representing the ATM industry as part of the National ATM Council’s annual DC Fly-In.

Before every meeting, I do the same thing.

I Google the member of Congress — not to memorize a voting record, but to understand the person.

Where they grew up. What committees they serve on. What issues matter to them.

And sometimes, I discover something unexpected.

Before meeting Congressman Cleo Fields, I learned he grew up in the same small Louisiana town as my mother. I knew they were from different generations, but I took a chance that he might remember my grandmother, who had served as the parish Registrar of Voters.

To my surprise, he did.

I also mentioned that one of the issues we were discussing reminded me of legislation he had championed years earlier in the Louisiana Legislature. The next day, he became a co-sponsor of our bill.

It can happen that fast.

Not because of one conversation alone, but because preparation, relationships, and timing came together at exactly the right moment.

Another trip brought another reminder.

While waiting to meet Congressman Mike Ezell, I struck up a conversation with one of his legislative aides. Before long, we discovered he was best friends with my cousin’s son.

It truly is a small world.

Before every congressional meeting, I give the group I’m with the same advice.

Thank them for their time.

Offer to be a resource.

Build a relationship before you need something.

Over the years, I’ve often wondered where that advice came from. The truth is, I’m not entirely sure.

Maybe it was my parents. Maybe it was my time as a page. Maybe it was years spent working in advocacy. Most likely, it was all of those experiences combined.

What I do know is why I keep coming back.

I love making a difference.

Whether I’m preparing someone for their first meeting with a legislator, helping an organization communicate more effectively, or building partnerships that create new opportunities, I know I’m contributing to something far bigger than myself.

That’s what has always made this work so meaningful to me.

Those lessons have guided me well for more than two decades, and they extend far beyond government.

Whether I’m meeting with a legislator, launching a new product, building a strategic partnership, or helping a client tell their story, it always starts with understanding people.

Looking Back

It’s been more than twenty years since I packed my bags and headed to Baton Rouge for what I thought would be a summer job.

I'm not sure when I realize it had became so much more.

Serving as a page taught me to ask questions, to prepare, to listen, to build relationships, to think bigger, to say yes when opportunities appeared.

Those lessons have shaped every chapter of my career – from public relations and advocacy to strategic communications, marketing, and partnerships. They’ve influenced how I lead, how I build relationships, and how I communicate.

Since then, I’ve been fortunate to return to Congress many times – helping others prepare for legislative meetings and leading advocacy groups.

And every time I do, I think about the people who invested in me along the way.

My parents. The teachers, professors, and mentors who challenged me to think differently and opened doors I didn’t know existed. The colleagues who trusted me. The legislators who were generous with their time.

I’m grateful for every one of them.

Because looking back, I realize they didn’t just shape my career. They helped shape the person I became.

And every time I walk into the Capitol, I’m reminded that it all began with one summer as a page.

Alicia is a strategic communications and partner marketing leader with more than 20 years of experience helping organizations build partnerships, launch products, navigate change, and tell stories that build trust. She has worked across advocacy, financial services, technology, and B2B marketing, bringing a relationship-first approach to every organization she serves.

📩 Schedule your consultation alicia@blandamarketing.com