Beto O’Rourke has driven alone across the plains, straining to find his emotional bearings — or at least a Pancake House in Liberal, Kansas. He has collected an “El Pasoan of the Year” award, before a modest audience, and smiled coyly through an interview with Oprah Winfrey, before a bigger one.

He has surfaced on college campuses, to listen to students; at a Metallica concert, to listen to Metallica; and at the premiere of a documentary about his star-making Senate run in Texas at the South by Southwest festival, to listen to himself on screen.

He has journaled extensively.

“We’re in this together, like it or not,” O’Rourke wrote, summarizing the lessons of his recent solo travels in one of several stream-of-consciousness online posts. “The alternative is to be in this apart, and that would be hell.”

As the Democratic presidential field takes final shape, O’Rourke seems inclined to be in this, according to interviews with people who have spoken to him and other top Democrats. He says he has made a decision about whether to run and could announce it as early as this week, unsettling prospective rival campaigns that consider O’Rourke a credible threat.

Yet in the four months since his Senate loss, O’Rourke, 46, has done little to demonstrate the kind of intensive preparation — building national political infrastructure, projecting a signature policy rationale for a candidacy — typically associated with a top-flight presidential campaign.

There has been no flirtation tour in Iowa, no trip to New Hampshire since his college years as an Ivy League rower. O’Rourke had no traditional campaign-in-waiting at the ready after the midterms — the sort of operation available to a more experienced holdout like former Vice President Joe Biden or carefully built over months by first-time presidential candidates like Sens. Elizabeth Warren, D-Mass., Cory Booker, D-N.J., and Kamala Harris, D-Calif.

Few doubt O’Rourke’s capacity to upend the race regardless, buoyed by a talent for relentless retail politics, a formidable low-dollar fundraising army and an unsubtle contrast to front-runners in their 70s, like Biden and Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vt.

He also can count on help from several veterans of former President Barack Obama’s campaigns. One of them, Paul Tewes, Obama’s 2008 Iowa state director, has been helping to plan O’Rourke’s candidacy, according to three Democrats familiar with the effort, and O’Rourke is considering making a trip to Iowa as soon as this week.

But perhaps no major 2020 player invites as many question marks as O’Rourke, and his drawn-out noncandidacy has provided few answers:

Is this the moment for a relatively untested white male in a party eager to elevate female and nonwhite voices in the quest to dethrone President Donald Trump?

Can O’Rourke scale up to a national campaign without losing the intimate, semi-improvisational feel of his perpetually livestreamed Senate bid?

And in a primary where some top candidates have already sought to establish progressive litmus tests on key issues, what does O’Rourke actually believe?

“He’s still an open book,” said Maurice Mitchell, national director for the Working Families Party. “He sort of catapulted himself into the national spotlight without answering a lot of questions about where he stands.”

Amanda Litman, a Democratic strategist who worked for Hillary Clinton in 2016, wondered aloud if O’Rourke would be considered a top-tier candidate “if he wasn’t a handsome young white man.”

“He’s certainly effective at communicating the values behind a policy,” she said, “but that may not cut it in a primary where we all share the same values and are debating the execution on those values.”

O’Rourke has betrayed little concern about catering to his left flank. People close to him say a central takeaway from speaking to disparate audiences in recent months is that voters are far less ideological than some in the party might believe — supplying an opening, O’Rourke senses, for a unifying figure in a bog of partisan warriors.

Robby Mook, Clinton’s campaign manager in 2016, said that O’Rourke stands apart as a politician who can “drive his own news,” independent of Trump, alluding to his history of social media-ready flourishes on the campaign trail.

“It’s not just a matter of being authentic,” Mook said. “It’s authentically taking on Trump and challenging political norms.”

Still, most candidates considered to be top 2020 contenders tend to check at least one of the following three boxes: a firm policy bedrock anchoring their campaigns, like the economic platforms of Sanders or Warren; the potential to make history, like Harris or her female Senate peers in the field; or deep experience and national standing, like Biden.

O’Rourke would appear to satisfy none of these descriptions, though his instinct for viral internet ubiquity and generational uplift may amount to its own category.

His fans compare him to Obama or the Kennedys — a font of rangy inspiration — rarely dwelling on his record. But O’Rourke would enter the race without a signal achievement over six years as an El Paso congressman, nor an obvious big-ticket policy idea that might animate his bid.

In public settings of late, O’Rourke has placed immigration, education and especially climate change at the center of his remarks, which tend to focus most on a high-minded-but-vague message of uniting a divided nation. Perhaps mindful of this reputation, he has recently unveiled multipoint plans on immigration and criminal justice reform. Both sketch out ideas he has largely outlined before.

Friends say he has cycled through a number of policy passions through the years — marijuana legalization, advocacy for veterans, rural hospital access — often prompted by insights from the people he meets.

“It’s the time that calls his issues," said Steve Ortega, a friend who served on the El Paso City Council with him.

O’Rourke spent much of the last two months of 2018 finishing his work in Congress, condensing his preparation period even more tightly. In recent weeks, though, he has done some of the more typical work of a politician considering a run for president: conferring with longtime staff and others who he hopes might join his cause; speaking to key groups, like a conference of Hispanic leaders in Chicago and gun control advocates in his hometown; headlining a rally to counter Trump’s call for a border wall when the president appeared in El Paso.

But his indecisiveness has compelled some veteran Democratic aides who admire him to accept positions with other candidates. Several people who have spoken to his team came away questioning whether O’Rourke was thoroughly prepared for the crush of a national race. Some suggested he lacked detailed plans like a comprehensive strategy for amassing delegates. (O’Rourke and his advisers have, however, spoken to campaign veterans with experience in managing the delegate process about possibly joining his team, according to a person familiar with the discussions.)

Unlike other candidates who recruited staff members over the past year with a wink and a nod — all but sure that they would enter the race — O’Rourke was still conveying uncertainty as recently as last month, according to the people who spoke to him.

Since then, he has sounded firmer.

“I think he feels his time is now,” said Randi Weingarten, president of the American Federation of Teachers, who met with O’Rourke at length recently.

Weingarten, speaking with O’Rourke and his wife, Amy, in El Paso, raised the possibility of O’Rourke challenging Sen. John Cornyn, R-Texas, in 2020.

Texas Democrats have prodded him on this score as well, but few expect O’Rourke to confine his ambitions to another state-level race. After prolific success with small-dollar donors during the midterms, O’Rourke is likely to have little trouble raising enough money to get a presidential run off the ground. His presence could energize some crucial voting blocs, like young people, who formed much of his coalition in Texas.

“If he got in, it would be a pretty big game-changer,” said Eliana Locke, who leads the College Democrats at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where O’Rourke met with students last month.

Supporters also say it is laughable that some liberals, particularly allies of Sanders, have described O’Rourke as a squishy moderate because of a congressional record that sometimes veered toward centrism.

More recently, O’Rourke moved well to the left of many 2018 Democrats by raising the prospect of impeaching Trump; argued for the destruction of existing border barriers between El Paso and Mexico; and, in perhaps his most widely seen social media moment, defended the professional football players who were kneeling in protest during the national anthem.

“In Texas, Ted Cruz called me a socialist. I’m too liberal for Texas,” O’Rourke told the students in Wisconsin. “Outside of Texas, people say, ‘Is he really a Democrat? I think he’s a closet Republican.’ I don’t know where I am on a spectrum and I almost could care less. I just want to get to better things for this country.”

Ortega, the friend from the City Council, suggested that part of O’Rourke’s appeal owes to his self-awareness on matters of substance: He knows what he does not know and is unafraid to concede that a question extends beyond his expertise.

“He’s not the kind of guy who’s going to give you a made-up, half-baked answer,” Ortega said.

For now, supporters would settle for the fully baked answer he is keeping to himself: Is he in or out?

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.