Fruit in my dessert

I was wrong...

Many months ago, if you had asked me about tonight's election, I would have told you that I didn't think America would vote for a black man as president. I had lived long enough in liberal east coast states to know that what we believed and how we voted was often not in line with the 30+ states "in between" the coasts. I have witnessed enough active and passive racism by people who have and have not known that they were doing anything wrong to be scared that it wouldn't happen. And it wasn't just the race issue that had me in doubt. I had been there with a really smart, experienced white guy from the south eight years earlier and he couldn't pull it off, so I was skeptical to say the least. I couldn't afford to get my hopes up just to have them dashed again. And even as the prospect of the citizens of the United States proving me wrong seemed to become more of a possibility, I hesitated to believe. Senator Obama was telling me it was possible, some of my most skeptical and politically adept and knowledgeable friends and family (including BH) were telling me it was possible. It would be tough, but it was possible.

As my friends and family will tell you, I often fail to admit when I'm wrong, and certainly to apologize. On this historic occasion, I concede. I was wrong and I have never been so happy to be wrong in my life. But, I'm definitely not sorry.

Easiest Test I've Ever Taken

Still scarred

I want to be hopeful about tomorrow. I do, I really do. And deep down, I think I might be. But, there's one problem. I'm still not over 2000. I still don't believe it happened. Part of the problem is that I was there. I was working at HQ when we lost. I cried sad tears. I called my dad. It was the worst ending of a movie ever. I was standing in the rain waiting - and then my phone rang (all of our phones rang) - when we unlost. I cried happy tears. I was in DC pushing send on the email to tell the world that, even though we won, we were giving up. I knew it would take me a while to get over it. My next job at a major cable news channel where we used the other side of the still-marked-up electoral map as a white board did not help. Fahreinheit 911, during which I was the only one crying when they showed campaign rally scenes, did not help. Leaving my career in politics behind did not help. Perhaps you can't ever truly leave. When I say I have PTSD, others laugh but I am only half-kidding, or maybe I'm not kidding at all. I know it was eight years ago, that I was just a kid and now I'm a mom, but other people's confidence scares me. I want to tell them not to get too excited, but I don't. I want to tell them that they never can know what will happen, but I don't. People think I'm not excited or enthusiastic enough. Some might even think that I don't care. I care so much that I can't even talk about it. Please let Doris Kearns Goodwin (and all those other people who aren't afraid that saying something will make it not come true) be right. She's a smart, smart person, and as insightful as they come. Maybe if she is right, I'll get over it. And, if she's not, I really don't know what I'll do after I'm done crying. Maybe I'll go here for a while.