Watching history from the couch

This isn’t a political blog. And this won’t be a political post. But it seems impossible not to comment in some way about what happened on Tuesday night.

I was most disappointed to realize that Election Night was also Rob’s bowling night. So went our tradition of hunkering down in front of the TV with wine and pizza. Odd how so many of our traditions involve wine and pizza…

So it was me, the couch, some tea, some Spider Solitaire, and the TV remote. I jumped all around the satellite and eventually landed on major network news. What can I say – I liked their graphics better. I also pointed excitedly at the TV and bragged to the cat, “I know her!!” when Kathy Frankovic of CBS News showed up to talk about their polling results. Kathy probably doesn’t remember me, but we knew each other way back in my first job doing political polls. Another lifetime ago.

As the results and predictions rolled in, I wondered if it would all be decided before my coast’s polls even closed. Probably due to some policy, the networks managed to wait until one minute after 8:00pm to paint my coast blue and announce our next president. Yep, with that one minute to tally the ballots, I am certain my vote counted.

Without going into many revealing details, I will say that I wasn’t terribly excited by either candidate. I didn’t have a bumper sticker or a lawn sign for either guy. I had my misgivings about each of them and therefore my vote ended up being more against one than for the other.

But regardless where you stood politically on Tuesday night, it was impossible not to recognize the historical significance of the evening. Yes, it would have been historical either way, but Barack was the entrée whereas Sarah was a side-dish. I felt oddly both in the moment and reminiscent as I watched the celebratory coverage. I knew I was watching history while at the same time I was projecting myself years into the future remembering this night.

I was caught off-guard by the scenes of people hugging and dancing in Times Square. The only thing missing was Dick Clark. The scene of the immense and jovial crowd gathered in Grant Park had even more meaning to a generation before me who remembers it as a much more volatile venue. I wondered as Obama’s young family entered the stage what parallels the generations who witnessed both would draw between the Obamas and the Kennedys.

As I listened to my soon-to-be president speak, I heard the crowd reply “Amen!” any number of times, although they used the words, “Yes we can!” I was moved by the hope and optimism and excitement, emotions that carried over into the next day on the radio and in emails and in conversations. Of course, there are those who are horrified and scared and half-jokingly making threats to move to Costa Rica for four years. I absolutely love that I have friends so enthusiastically on both sides. All are smart people with good arguments; perhaps this is why I find myself so often lingering about the middle.

Never in my life, though, have I witnessed something like this, this semi-national swelling of hope and anticipation. The feeling is addictive, even if you are only an observer. I so want this feeling to last. This is a rough time right now for our country; a little bit of hope goes a long way.

This feeling of unity reminds me, with a much different tone, of the days immediately following September 11. But that soon disintegrated into partisanship and finger-pointing and eventually, business as usual. And that perhaps is my biggest fear today. That this national euphoria is short-lived and sooner than we want, reality will set in and the hard work of trying to instigate change will prove bumpy. So while my county and state are painted blue, and a number of my friends and relatives are painted red, today you can paint me cautiously optimistic.