My First Election

The 2020 election has come and gone, leaving much in its wake.

The Tuesday-Saturday stretch of last week felt like a river, one that pulled my body through currents and eddies. I didn’t want a river, of course. I wanted a waterfall––something visceral and fast, clear and undeniable. I wanted the election to tip over and pour itself out.

Instead, this election was soft. The river weaned and dipped, bending into confusing shapes. In the slow stretches of waiting (and the futile quest for answers), watery depths felt ominous, as if hiding a shark just below my kicking feet. In the fast announcements of votes (discovered by a refresh of the electoral college), my head would submerge––in panic or relief. The days came and went, swirling around a map on Google that barely seemed to change. I grew waterlogged and exhausted. I think we all did.

Search, research, load, reload. That was how the Election Game went. It was like watching a coin drop from high above––flipping and flipping. Me, jolting with every new heads or tails. And the river pulled me onwards.

There were a few moments of last week, when I was able to pull myself from the water. I’d grab a rock or a branch, and hoist myself up, just long enough to look around––and reach for my journal.

I turn to that infamous journal now, for it punctuates my five-day election experience quite well:

---

November 2 (11pm)

I have been anticipating tomorrow for four years…but now that it’s almost here, I find myself faltering. The stakes feel too high for optimism, the uncertainty crushes all poll projections (regardless of how promising they may look now). Hope is the only thing I cling to.

Tomorrow, I hope to see blue states. I hope to feel this nation come alive and Vote. Him. Out. I hope to see the tables turn and I hope to see a woman in the White House. When I think about our planet’s future, I hope to see a speck of light.

November 3 (8am)

It’s Election Day, and I’ve awakened to a world dusted in white. The season’s first snow smiles at me through the window. Please, let that be the sign of a new start.

November 3 (8pm)

I’ve been milling around the apartment for a few hours now––speculating, bothering my roommates, kicking up dust. No states have announced yet. We’ve got a long night ahead, I know that. It’s no use staying up, I know that. And yet, I will.

November 3 (10pm)

I have been attempting to do work for the past two hours…with very marginal success. Google is showing me a 131-98 Biden lead, with major swing states still undeclared. Florida is not looking good…neither is the prospect of completed homework.

November 3 (1am)

Fuck. This looks bad.

November 4 (5am)

Ok, this looks better.

November 4 (10pm)

Today, I have fluctuated from feeling like an exhausted shell of a person, to an impassioned political news junkie. The electoral map is continuing to shift as absentee and early ballots are counted. People shriek at each new percentage change––bodies gather around computers; eyes peer over shoulders. Everyone, it seems, is holding their breath.

Biden currently has a 264-214 lead and is trending well in Nevada. He is also catching up in Pennsylvania(!) and Georgia. Any state now would put him over the edge. Tomorrow, we should know.

November 5 (1am)

Still waiting. Refreshing every hour. Distracted.

November 7 (8pm)

I was looking out my window, when my roommate called my name. The way he called it sounded different––like he was trying to say everything in that one word. Stepping into my room, he held out his phone––and I began to scream. It was joyous. I yelled and cheered and when he told me Pennsylvania, my home state, had been the one to flip, I cheered louder. We embraced and I rolled around on the kitchen floor and did all the weird things people do when they cannot contain their thrill.

And then I went back to my window, and I started calling people I love.

---

The 2020 election has come and gone, leaving much in its wake.

Of course, our lame duck president still refuses to concede his loss. Of course, much mayhem can (and probably will) ensue between now and January. Of course, bad things will continue to happen after January. I know this.

And yet, here we are, in this brave new world. The river has ended and all that’s left is ocean. Wide open and bright blue.

To my first general election as a voter: You were kinda a bitch. The kind of bitch who turns nice at the end of the story, though, because someone gave them a chance. I’m glad I could help give you a chance.