Late but smiling

All right. I’ve finally managed to stop pinching myself…my arm is raw. The thrilled trembling in my fingers has receded to the point that I can actually type again. And the eye-mist (okay, they were tears; two parts unbridled joy, one part profound exhaustion) has dissipated to the point that I can once again bring a screen into focus. But it seems I am too late! After surfing to the edges of the post-election internet, with several navigations around the blogosphere, the news sites, and the various ‘tubes, this cyber Marco Polo is forced to admit that it’s all been said and written and posted by now, in a manner far more moving and eloquent than any words I might put down here. However, given the nature of this moment (which I absolutely refuse to stop savoring) I think that’s okay. I’m here to add my brief shout from the rooftop to the global chorus…

…starting with an apology to all those who have had to look me in the face the last couple days. I haven’t been able to stop smiling for nearly 48 hours. My face has frozen in what, since I can’t bring myself to look in a mirror, I can only imagine to be a sort of obnoxious, gleeful rictus. I attribute this to the heavy dose of Obamatox I received on Tuesday night (side effects may include a revitalized national spirit, cornucopian abundance of international good will, and unrelenting exuberance). The worst part is that just when I think I’ll be able to straighten out my mouth again, I happen to see another picture from Grant Park or D.C. or Indonesia, another headline reminding me that yes, this has actually happened, and suddenly I’m back to grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat on his way out of the dentist’s office. Normally, I would be very self-conscious about this, worried that people might be put off by the fact that I was flashing more tooth than a teratoma cultivated in the Joker’s mouth. Fortunately, Obamatox smiles are everywhere; everyone else seems to be stricken with a case of unrestrainable joy as well! So perhaps apologies aren’t necessary.

I’m smiling for a host of reasons, which you all know by now, and all of which have been polished to the shiniest of prose nuggets in editorials and blog entries stretching from here to the internet’s farthest shore. But in addition to all of those reasons, I’m smiling because I am unabashedly proud of this country again, for what it stands for and what it’s capable of – that despite the best efforts of the shadowy cabal or whoever’s been calling the shots these last eight years, the system can actually still work (and work wonders). I’m proud because, for the first time in my adult life, I feel that I don’t have to mumble apologies or hide in the shadows when I’m outside of the country. I’m proud of my generation for finally getting its act together. Really people, it was beyond time.

And I’m grinning like an idiot at the Shiny Object store because of what I saw, and was a part of, on Tuesday night. By historical accident I was fortunate enough to be in Washington D.C. when Obama was making the world tear up with talk of puppies and hope and such, and ended up as a participant in the most impromptu outpouring of joy I’ve ever seen as people danced and sang in front of the White House. After watching Obama's victory speech (yet another one to add to the Greatest Hits album) I took to the streets with a couple friends. We kept passing small knots of whooping, hollering people. And gradually, these small knots of whooping, hollering people merged into big globs of whoopers and hollerers, all walking in more or less the same direction, until, without any explicit signal or verbal cue, everyone started running towards the White House, gaining more momentum and more cheering throngs by the second and arriving just a hundred yards outside of a certain Mr. W.’s (soon-to-be-vacant) bedroom...where it joined with similar jubilant mobs from all over the city, hundreds of people singing, cheering, dancing, hugging and screaming, as if a physical and emotional dam had given way.

Nothing approaches that euphoric mob’s expression of spontaneous exuberance on Tuesday night. The whole scene was like stepping back in time into one of those videos of the Berlin Wall tumbling down, or witnessing the exultations of the happy multitudes following the toppling of a tyrannical dictator in some forgotten country, a great exhalation from a long-oppressed people (the only thing lacking to complete the image was a colossal bronze Bush being pulled to the ground...but I guess that was going on figuratively, at least).

And now, I’ve woken up the last two mornings to a world that feels palpably different. Some of that change is inside myself. There is no longer the oppressive weight of the relentless anxiety associated with the last several months. More importantly, there is no longer the weight, heavier still, that I had grown so accustomed to over the last eight years I had forgotten it was there, though it weighed my spirits down mightily: the weight of hopelessness, helplessness, and isolation that has been the burden of so many both here in American and all around the world for nearly a decade, and that now, finally, has been cast off. And spirits are soaring.

Much has been spouted about how this election marked a turning point, a crossroads, and a decisive moment in history that would steer our nation towards one of two very divergent paths. And for once, I feel like all the hyperbole, while always flirting with the ridiculous, was not completely off. It is as though the nation, and the world, has been decisively nudged by a guiding and concerned benevolent hand (not to be confused with Adam Smith’s invisible appendage; that thing’s lying bruised and battered on Wall Street somewhere. Either that, or trying to sneak into the bailout coffers). In the epic fantasy world of my imagination, this hand has steered us onto a path towards a better and brighter destiny, diverted us from a fate descending into gloom and chaos. I’m almost positive that somewhere – probably in rural Virginia, or North Carolina, or Colorado, or Indiana – there stands a wizened, bearded old man in a pointy hat looking out over the country, leaning on his staff as he nods sagely, just before muttering something ominous about a One Ring and vanishing mysteriously into thin air. Wait…has anyone seen David Axelrod or David Plouffe since the election??? I always thought they looked a little too disheveled to be from around here…

Okay, this is getting a bit silly. Obviously the guiding, benevolent hand was all of us. So now that we’ve found it again, let’s keep it at the tiller.

Giving into hyperbole again, the promise of the next four (ahem, eight) years seems boundless right now. Yet the realist in my knows that of course President Obama won’t be perfect. The thankless task he has undertaken may involve disappointment and unfulfilled promises as much as it brings inspiration and long-alluded-to change. There will still be problems facing this country after he leaves office. But at least I will be able to tolerate listening to him speak; more than that, I will make an effort to tune in daily and lend a rapt ear. And on top of everything else, I’m thrilled that on January 20th, we’ll have the Cutest First Family of All Time moving into the White House. The celebrity of the Barackstars and the accompanying paparazzi bonanza means that soon, I won’t have to feel embarrassed when I get caught browsing the tabloids picking up a copy of Us Weekly; I’ll just be reading up on my political news, and obviously, People will become the go-to mag for the politically savvy…and all those who like watching pictures of puppies frolicking in the rose garden.

For now though, it’s still all Obamatox smiles, and, perhaps, a brief respite from Hope as we take a break to enjoy where it’s taken us.