November 4, 2008

This is a bittersweet day for me. Here in Boston, the sun sits high in a clear morning sky, the river a ribbon of slate-blue that runs through a wet city exploding in reds, oranges, and burgundies. The newspaper stands boast bold-print predictions of who may lead us by night's end. Outside polling stations, lines snake in anxious curves around old brick walls as folks funnel toward the doors that lead them to their ballots. Some dressed for the occasion in pins and T-shirts depicting their choice to next lead our country, while others quietly wait to do the same in office attire, skirts and sneakers, paint-splattered Carharts, suits and ties, hospital scrubs, cowboy boots and Levi's. Today is an historic day, and no one wants to sit by idly and not participate. Baseball is done for the fall, our football team battles Brady-less, and the C's are barely under way. But none of those pastimes could match the electricity of today anyway.

Today is different. Today, after all the TV ads and stump speeches, all the pundits and primaries, debates and SNL sketches--today is the day that we, the People, choose our next president. And I, for one, am feeling pretty down about it.

I feel down because before long it will all be over. Oh, sure, the talking heads will have much to Monday-morning quarterback for days and weeks to come. The Joe Scarboroughs and Rachel Maddows of the world will milk this thing for all its worth, analyzing, dissecting, and opining about all that went right or wrong for each candidate, depending upon the outcome.

But it won't be the same. Can't be. This is the big day. What makes it exciting is that it isn't over yet. The polls have only just opened. My morning tea is still steeping. No winner has been projected. By 11pm, we should have a winner, and then it will all be over, this energy that has swept up the nation, captured our imaginations, and led us to pour into polling stations in record numbers. I dig my heels against the passage of time today. I haven't even voted yet (I will tonight) because I am squeezing all I can out of this day.

I will miss the verbal political sparring with coworkers and drunks on barstools. I will miss the New Yorker cartoons, the outlandish claims, the left-wing crazies and the right-wing loonies, the logos and slogans and lawn signs. I will miss the lies and the half-truths. I'll miss Hillary biting her lip as she pretends to LOVE Obama. I'll miss Cindy McCain's cold, harsh smile, and Michelle Obama's fist bumps. I already miss the debates, those forced and awkward knife fights that never said anything of substance but which oozed gravitas.

What all of the above is a demonstration of, and what I essentially will miss when all this is over, is passion. This election has stirred in us a collective passion, a burning, combustible passion--no matter who you support--and it is that passion that I will miss come November 5.

Vote as you wish, but I, for one, am casting my ballot for Barack Obama. And the reason, aside from the fact that I align with most all his policies, is that I admire him. I am not sure I have ever thought that way about a politician before. I liked Clinton's policies, and even still find the guy charming in spite of his womanizing tendencies and penchant for self-idolization. But Barack Obama is different. To me, he seems like a nice guy, kind, empathetic, a family man who loves his family, a go-getter who is almost naively optimistic. He plays basketball, used to smoke (and may still), had admitted to past drug use, and likes Wilco. He's a man of color, a man of pride, a man of high intellect who inspires me to want to participate and do whatever is asked of me for the betterment of the country. Obama fought dirty when he had to, but only when he had to. He is not the snide, arrogant, self-centered, erratic, and yes, old, man that McCain is. I once admired McCain, and have even thought at one time that he was perhaps the man best-suited to lead a divided nation. But those days are long gone. McCain is the same choice for all those too afraid of change, too afraid of youth, too afraid of progress and big ideas. A vote for McCain is a vote for war, a vote for fear, and a vote for a time that has already passed us by. I, for one, am not about to squander my one vote in this pivotal time in America on someone prone to fits and gritted teeth and backstabbing and deception. Thanks, but no thanks.

I am trying to be bold in my own life. Be strong. Think big. Aspire for more than the ordinary. And that is why I will cast my vote for Barack Obama today.

Then I will go home, sit on my couch with my guitar on my lap, and watch as they polls close, the votes are counted, and someone, eventually, is named the next to-be president of our flawed but wonderful country. And I will fight back the sadness that I know I will feel as it begins to sink in that this two-year-long dash for the White House has come to an anticlimactic close.

But we're not there yet. This day ain't over yet. I'll worry about my political hangover when it comes. Until then, today is a party. Don't miss out. Participate!