Matthew Tzuker of Portland is an executive recruiter and a writer.

I have hesitated to write anything about Graham Platner for a few reasons.

First, the story of his past mistakes has moved so quickly that by the time I finished, another questionable tattoo may have appeared. Second, it’s national news and is there anything I could say that isn’t already being said better elsewhere? And third, the vehemence with which his supporters have adhered to his candidacy is, to be honest, a little intimidating. His signs have sprung up in the drought-stricken soil of Portland lawns like hawkweed.   

When a mass of people suddenly lurches toward one person or idea, it makes me itchy (this allergy has gotten worse as I have aged) so I had decided to reserve judgment until we are, at least, in the calendar year of the election.

But the musk of the brawny oysterman has proven impossible to ignore. I took a dive into his interviews and public appearances to learn about the man behind the Totenkopf.

I can see why my neighbors like Platner. He is singing a song that, for good reason, has been popular for some time and he is doing so in a gravelly baritone straight from Maine’s rough and jagged coastline; an almost too-perfect contrast to the timorous Sen. Susan Collins.

Now with Gov. Janet Mills in the role of the establishment boomer, the familiar Democratic Party musical emerges (moderate vs. progressive, energy vs. experience, etc. vs. etc.) and each side can take up their marks and practice their lines. As an added bonus, the world will be watching this show through winter and spring and no doubt offering helpful notes while we scrape our windshields.

But the Platner saga these past weeks has been about so much more than just politics. It’s been about manhood, trauma, redemption, the angry online panopticon in which we are all trapped, and about grace. From all of those standpoints, I root for the guy. People should be allowed to grow. When they recognize old flaws and move to correct them, we should fall on the side of forgiveness. Failure to do so has made us a brittle and constantly outraged people.

Further, Platner’s honesty about what led him to war, to depression, to an oyster farm and suddenly to national prominence is, in its broad brushes, inspiring. It is particularly poignant as an example of the healing power of purpose and community on men who, if you haven’t noticed, are not doing too well. His charisma channels both the anger and tenderness required of our moment while countering Trump’s brand of manliness that offers no space for vulnerability or sacrifice.

But that doesn’t mean we make him a senator.

“Charisma,” writes management guru Peter Drucker, “becomes the undoing of leaders. It makes them inflexible, convinced of their own infallibility, unable to change.”

If we are only five years removed from churlish “sh*tposting,” and only a few weeks removed from having a Nazi-like tattoo, we have no idea what several years of pressure in D.C., much less a full campaign cycle, could bring. Certainly, staff exiting at the first sign of trouble doesn’t bode well.

This is not about “waiting your turn” or having the “proper pedigree.” It’s about proving over time, to yourself and others, that you are who you say you are.

If we are looking for someone to dig into the unenviable job of U.S. senator — which requires diligence, strength of character, and (shudder) compromise — we might be better served looking for consistency over charisma. Boring, unsatisfying, unsexy consistency. I’m bored just typing the word.

But consistency — showing up over time, knowing your stuff and putting in the work even when no one is watching — makes for a legislator who doesn’t just look good while putting up a satisfying fight, but actually improves lives. It may also be the best representation of Maine values.