Start, Stay, or Leave

Start, Stay, or Leave Plot Summary

Introduction

Trey Gowdy stood in the federal courthouse in Greenville, South Carolina, staring at a photograph of a crime scene—a young man's lifeless body lying near a small pond. As a federal prosecutor arguing his first murder case, Gowdy had decided to end his closing argument with this simple, powerful image. This moment exemplified the approach that would define his career: starting with the end in mind. Throughout his journey from prosecutor to congressman to television commentator, Gowdy developed a framework for making life's most consequential decisions—whether to start something new, stay where you are, or leave for different opportunities. Growing up in Spartanburg, South Carolina, Gowdy initially measured success by external validation and accomplishments. He pursued a career in law that led him from federal prosecutor to district attorney to U.S. congressman. Yet along this path, Gowdy discovered that the most important decisions in life aren't about climbing ladders or building pyramids of achievement—they're about defining success on your own terms, surrounding yourself with people who will tell you hard truths, and staying true to your values even when it means walking away from prestigious positions. His journey reveals profound insights about finding purpose beyond titles, making decisions that align with your authentic self, and crafting a legacy that reflects what truly matters.

Chapter 1: Finding Purpose: From Prosecutor to Public Servant

Trey Gowdy's path to finding his purpose began in the most unlikely of places—delivering newspapers at 5:00 A.M. as a fourteen-year-old boy on a motorized bicycle. This early job, dodging dogs in the pre-dawn darkness, would be the first step in a winding career journey that would eventually lead him back to delivering news, albeit in a very different format—as a television host and podcast creator decades later. After college, where he majored in history "for all the wrong reasons," Gowdy attended law school and clerked for federal judges. It was during his clerkship with a federal trial judge that he was drawn to the criminal justice system, which would become the setting for the majority of his professional life. In 1994, Gowdy achieved what he considered his dream job: becoming a federal prosecutor. There was, he recalls, "no professional feeling in the world that can equate with standing in front of a judge or jury and saying, 'I am here on behalf of the United States of America.'" The position aligned perfectly with his desire to serve justice and help victims. However, as time passed, the reality of being a federal prosecutor began to diverge from Gowdy's initial vision. While he loved the challenges of the courtroom and piecing together prosecutions, he found himself increasingly frustrated with the types of cases he was handling. The majority were firearms and narcotics cases, which often resulted in lengthy prison sentences for crimes in which no one was physically harmed. Meanwhile, defendants convicted of crimes like child pornography sometimes received shorter sentences. This lack of proportionality troubled him deeply. The turning point came when Gowdy was prosecuting a drug case that would result in a life sentence without parole for the defendant. While he felt no sympathy for the drug dealer, he couldn't shake thoughts of another case—that of Susan Smith, who had murdered her two young sons by strapping them into her car and letting it roll into a lake. Smith would be eligible for parole after thirty years, while the drug dealer would never leave prison. This stark contrast in sentencing for vastly different crimes struck Gowdy as fundamentally unjust. This realization led Gowdy to consider a significant career change—leaving his federal prosecutor position to run for circuit solicitor (district attorney), where he could handle different kinds of cases, particularly violent crimes against people. It was a risky move that required him to leave the security of his federal job before knowing if he would win the election. Against the odds, including polling that initially showed him losing by an 80-20 margin, Gowdy won the election with nearly 55% of the vote. This decision to leave his "dream job" for something unknown exemplified Gowdy's evolving understanding of purpose. Rather than clinging to titles or positions, he was learning to pursue work that aligned with his deeper values—fairness, justice, and giving voice to victims. His journey from paperboy to prosecutor to public servant wasn't merely about career advancement; it was about finding meaningful work that made a difference in people's lives.

Chapter 2: The Mirror Principle: Redefining Personal Success

For much of his early life, Trey Gowdy measured success through what he calls the "pyramid model"—a structure where each achievement stacks upon previous ones, narrowing as you climb toward some unique pinnacle that distinguishes you from others. This mindset was partly inspired by Judge Donald S. Russell, whose impressive résumé included roles as governor, university president, U.S. senator, and federal judge. Gowdy believed that accumulating titles and accomplishments was the path to a successful life. This pursuit of external validation haunted Gowdy from his high school days, when he didn't appear among the "Ten Most Outstanding Seniors" in his yearbook. He carried this perceived failure with him, determined to make up for it with subsequent achievements. Each new position—clerking for a judge, becoming a federal prosecutor, running for political office—was another attempt to build his pyramid and prove his worth to the world. The turning point in Gowdy's thinking came during his third term in Congress when he had an opportunity to run for Speaker of the House. It was a position that would have certainly helped build the next level of his pyramid—third in line to the president. But by that point, Gowdy had traded "the lure of a unique pyramid for the steady assurance of a mirror." He no longer felt the need to be different or successful in the eyes of everyone else. He simply felt the need to be successful in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. This transformation was largely influenced by his wife, Terri. Throughout their marriage, she valued him for who he was rather than what he accomplished. Gowdy jokes that he's not even sure his wife knew he was in Congress for eight years—it simply wasn't how she judged his worth. For her, character mattered more than accomplishments, actions more than achievements. This perspective gradually liberated Gowdy from his self-styled prison of external validation. With this new mirror model, success came from within rather than from external monuments of achievement. When making decisions, Gowdy began asking himself: "Will I be making this decision for myself or for others? Will this cause a rift in the relationships and things that bring me joy in life? Does this decision take me on a path that leads me closer to my desired closing argument, to that final photograph in life's pictorial?" This shift in perspective allowed Gowdy to decline the opportunity to run for Speaker, recognizing that the job wouldn't suit him despite its prestigious title. He realized that success isn't relegated to a linear track; it enables you to find satisfaction in your current phase of life; and it focuses on the opinions of those who truly matter—those who know you best—rather than collecting external titles and achievements. The mirror model freed Gowdy to make decisions based on his internal values rather than external expectations. It allowed him to carve his own path, look in the mirror often, and avoid getting distracted by the ladders and pyramids that others were trying to convince him to climb or construct.

Chapter 3: Navigating Crossroads: The Art of Decision Making

When facing major life decisions, Trey Gowdy developed a systematic approach that balanced logic, emotion, and intuition. His primary decision-making mantra became: "What's the worst that could happen?" By identifying the worst possible outcome and developing a plan to handle it, Gowdy found he could make decisions with greater confidence and less anxiety. This approach first emerged when Gowdy was seventeen years old. Standing in the choir room of his church with friends, he spotted Terri Dillard, a young woman he considered as beautiful as "Helen of Troy." When the choir director announced everyone needed to bring a packed lunch for an upcoming trip, Gowdy boldly declared he would ask Terri to make his lunch—despite his friends' laughter and insistence she didn't even know he existed. His reasoning was simple: the worst that could happen was she would say no. Thirty-nine years later, Terri still makes lunches for him occasionally, though now as his wife of thirty-two years. Beyond this worst-case scenario thinking, Gowdy learned to balance what he calls "the three branches of decision making": the head (logic), the heart (emotions), and the gut (intuition). He believes everyone has a natural bent toward one of these three, but all play important roles and provide necessary checks and balances. For Gowdy, logic should drive decisions, with intuition navigating and emotions providing the soundtrack—but never taking control of the wheel. Fear played a significant role in Gowdy's decision-making process throughout his life. From childhood fears of abandonment to professional fears of being perceived as unprepared, fear was a constant companion. Over time, he learned to transform fear from a debilitating force into a useful ally by focusing on probabilities rather than possibilities and by directing attention toward others rather than himself. When fear rides with us but doesn't drive us, Gowdy explains, we can listen to its argument while remaining in control. Emotions, too, required careful management in Gowdy's decision framework. He learned this lesson the hard way during a flight delay when, frustrated and impatient, he decided to take an expensive Uber ride between airports rather than waiting for his plane to be repaired—only to discover the plane departed before his Uber even arrived at the destination. This experience taught him that emotions should punctuate decisions, not dictate them. They contain important information but must be cross-examined for contradictions and fallacies. Perhaps most importantly, Gowdy emphasizes the value of starting with the end in mind. Just as he wrote closing arguments first when preparing for trials, he advocates visualizing the final scene of your life—what you want to accomplish and how you want to be remembered—and then working backward to make decisions that lead to that desired ending. This approach provides clarity and purpose, ensuring that daily choices align with long-term goals and values. Through countless decisions—some wise, some regrettable—Gowdy developed this framework that combines pragmatic risk assessment, emotional awareness, and purposeful vision. His approach teaches that good decision-making isn't about eliminating uncertainty or guaranteeing success; it's about thoughtfully weighing options, preparing for consequences, and staying true to your authentic self and deepest values.

Chapter 4: Building a Legacy of Fairness and Integrity

Throughout his career, Trey Gowdy built a legacy centered on fairness and integrity, principles that guided his work as both a prosecutor and a congressman. These values were particularly evident in his handling of difficult cases and investigations, where he strived to be a voice for victims while maintaining a commitment to justice rather than mere victory. One of the most formative cases in Gowdy's career involved the murder of Ricky Samuel, a federal witness who had agreed to cooperate in a drug investigation. Samuel was lured to a remote pond by a man posing as a street preacher, who had him kneel to pray before shooting him twice in the head. This case deeply affected Gowdy, who felt the weight of having failed to protect someone who had entrusted the government with his safety. The investigation was challenging, but Gowdy and his team eventually secured convictions against both the hitman and the drug dealer who had ordered the killing. This case and others like it shaped Gowdy's understanding of justice. As a prosecutor, he took to heart the Supreme Court's description of the role: "The United States Attorney is the representative not of an ordinary party to a controversy, but of a sovereign whose obligation to govern impartially is as compelling as its obligation to govern at all; and whose interest, therefore, in a criminal prosecution is not that it shall win a case, but that justice shall be done." This perspective—that a prosecutor's job is not merely to win but to be a minister of justice—became central to Gowdy's professional identity. Gowdy carried these principles into Congress, where he chaired both the House Oversight Committee and the Select Committee on Benghazi. The latter investigation, which examined the 2012 terrorist attack on the U.S. diplomatic compound in Libya, tested Gowdy's commitment to fairness amid intense political pressure. While many viewed the investigation through a partisan lens, Gowdy approached it as he would a homicide investigation: seeking answers about why four Americans died, how it happened, and what could have been done differently. The political environment in Congress often challenged Gowdy's values. He was frustrated by the relativism he observed, where members would demand transparency from political opponents while obstructing it when it came to their own party. He was dismayed by the media's focus on conflict rather than substance, and by the increasing prioritization of fame and attention over principled governance. These experiences reinforced his commitment to fairness and integrity, even as they ultimately contributed to his decision to leave Congress. Despite these challenges, Gowdy maintained his reputation for fairness. He worked effectively with colleagues across the aisle on the House Ethics Committee, where party labels were shed behind closed doors in pursuit of just outcomes. He valued relationships over political points, forming deep friendships with people like Tim Scott, Kevin McCarthy, and John Ratcliffe that transcended political differences. Gowdy's legacy of fairness extended beyond his professional roles to his personal interactions. His father once remarked that "Trey treats the man who owns the building the same way he does the man who cleans the building." This approach—valuing people based on character rather than status—reflected Gowdy's deeper understanding that true integrity lies not in titles or achievements but in how we treat others and whether we remain faithful to our core principles.

Chapter 5: The Courage to Leave: Knowing When to Change Course

One of the most difficult decisions in life is knowing when to leave something behind—whether it's a job, a relationship, or a dream. For Trey Gowdy, this challenge manifested most powerfully in his decision to leave his position as circuit solicitor and, years later, to depart from Congress. Both decisions required him to recognize when a chapter of his life had reached its natural conclusion and to find the courage to move on. After nearly a decade as a prosecutor handling violent crime cases, Gowdy found that the work was taking a spiritual toll. The constant exposure to humanity's darkest elements—murder, rape, child abuse—was affecting his soul. He struggled to reconcile the depravity he witnessed daily with the faith he had grown up with. How could a loving God allow such horrific acts against innocents? This internal conflict intensified as he prosecuted case after case, each one adding to the weight he carried. On Mother's Day in 2009, both Gowdy's wife and mother independently concluded it was time for him to do something else. They recognized the price he was paying to remain in the criminal justice system was too high—not just for him, but for his family. His eight-year-old daughter had begun dragging her pillow into their bedroom at night after overhearing conversations about "bad people," and his son's activities were limited by Gowdy's heightened awareness of potential dangers. Gowdy knew they were right, but leaving presented its own challenges. Being a prosecutor had been part of his identity for so long that departing would mean assuming a different professional identity altogether. Additionally, he had been elected to his position and felt an obligation to complete his term. After much consideration, he decided to run for Congress as an "honorable exit" from his role as prosecutor. Years later, Gowdy would face a similar decision regarding his congressional career. By his third term, he was growing disillusioned with the political environment. The Benghazi investigation had been grueling, and he was frustrated by the partisan infighting, media bias, and the elevation of fame as the "ultimate political virtue." He planned to complete his third term and not seek reelection, but was persuaded by his friend Tim Scott to run for one more term. During that fourth and final term, Gowdy served on the House Intelligence Committee, which soon became embroiled in an investigation into Russian interference in the 2016 election. This experience only confirmed his decision to leave. In January 2018, he informed Speaker Paul Ryan of his intention not to seek reelection. When Ryan asked how he knew it was the right time, Gowdy simply replied, "I don't like it, and I'm not good at it." Later, he clarified: "I do not like it and I do not want to be good at it. It is relativism. The end justifies the means. Your friends betray you. The media is a daily headwind. I do not want to be good at this, not anymore." Gowdy's decisions to leave both the prosecutor's office and Congress demonstrate the courage required to recognize when a dream has run its course. Sometimes the very thing we once aspired to becomes something that no longer serves us or aligns with our values. In these moments, the bravest decision may be to walk away and chart a new path—not because we've failed, but because we've evolved. As Gowdy discovered, knowing when to leave is just as important as knowing when to start or stay.

Chapter 6: Beyond Politics: Discovering What Truly Matters

In the aftermath of his political career, Trey Gowdy embarked on a journey of rediscovery, shedding the constraints of public office to embrace what truly mattered to him. This transition revealed profound insights about identity, purpose, and the metrics by which we measure a life well-lived. One pivotal moment in this evolution came shortly after Donald Trump won the 2016 presidential election. Tim Scott called Gowdy, overcome with emotion, to tell him that now was his chance to be appointed to the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals. All the pieces were in place: a Republican president, a Republican-controlled Senate, two supportive home-state senators, and two openings on the court. It was the perfect opportunity to follow in the footsteps of Judge Donald Russell, whose career had once represented Gowdy's idea of success. Yet something unexpected happened—Gowdy realized he had no interest in the position. What had once been a faraway dream and his idea of a validated life was no longer what motivated him. After consulting with his wife, Terri, he declined to pursue the judgeship. He had reached a point where who he worked with mattered more than what he did. People, not positions, had become his priority. Financial security was important, but peace was priceless. This shift in perspective extended to how Gowdy viewed regrets and remembrances. Rather than claiming to have "no regrets" like many people do, he embraced regret as a natural part of self-reflection. He acknowledged things he would do differently—like applying himself more in high school and college—but learned to transform regrets into remembrances that informed and bettered his current and future self. Instead of letting regret imprison him, he allowed it to teach and inspire him. Gowdy also discovered the value of what he calls "selective selfishness"—being appropriately protective of your name, reputation, and the capital you've worked hard to build. He advised his friend Tim Scott early in their congressional careers: "Do not ever let other people spend the capital you worked so hard to acquire. You earned it; you spend it." This principle extends beyond politics to all areas of life, reminding us that while selfishness is generally discouraged, there are times when protecting your authentic self is not only acceptable but necessary. Perhaps most significantly, Gowdy learned to define success on his own terms rather than chasing external validation. He recalled a grocery store encounter where an older woman recognized him as "the district attorney" even though he had left that position a decade earlier. When she asked what he did after leaving the courthouse, he simply mentioned teaching at a local college and practicing a little law, omitting his congressional career entirely. When she suggested he would surely run for something else, he replied, "No, ma'am, I'm done with all of that. I'm going to stay right here in Spartanburg with you." This interaction crystallized Gowdy's realization that his decisions were no longer rooted in ambition but in a desire for something more meaningful. Sitting in his truck afterward with his wife in the town he loved, reflecting on a stranger's comment that he was "fair," he understood that the various paths he had taken—some wise, some regrettable—had led him to what truly mattered: being remembered not for titles or achievements, but for character and integrity.

Summary

Trey Gowdy's journey from ambitious young lawyer to seasoned public servant reveals a profound truth: the most consequential decisions in life are not about climbing ladders or building pyramids of achievement, but about aligning our choices with our authentic values and desired legacy. Through his evolution from measuring success by external validation to finding fulfillment in internal purpose, Gowdy demonstrates that true significance comes not from titles or positions but from the impact we have on others and the integrity with which we live. The wisdom distilled from Gowdy's experience offers valuable guidance for anyone facing life's crossroads: Start with the end in mind, visualizing how you want to be remembered. Balance logic, emotion, and intuition when making decisions, letting fear inform but never control your choices. Surround yourself with people who will tell you hard truths rather than what you want to hear. And perhaps most importantly, have the courage to leave situations that no longer serve your growth or align with your values, even when doing so means retiring a long-held dream. These principles apply whether you're considering a career change, evaluating a relationship, or simply trying to live with greater purpose and authenticity. In embracing them, we can craft closing arguments for our lives that reflect not what others expected of us, but what we ultimately determined mattered most.

About Author

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Trey Gowdy

TREY GOWDY is a former state and federal prosecutor who experienced the criminal justice system firsthand for nearly two decades. In 2010, he was elected to Congress and is now in his fourth term. He is the chair of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform and previously chaired the Select Committee on Benghazi. He serves on the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, as well as the Judiciary and Ethics committees. He has been widely recognized by law enforcement and victims of crime for his diligent service as a prosecutor.Connect with Congressman Gowdy on: gowdy.house.govFacebookTwitterInstagramYouTube

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