The Process

Our tiny little backroads township hall was packed this morning. Before the polls opened, the parking lot was full and the line stretched the length of the building. One man said in thirty years of voting there, he'd never seen so many people. We all stood around in the dark and the cold, making conversation with people we didn't know, and as the sun started to come up across the fields, I couldn't help but get a little teary. It's an amazing process, this election business, and after all these years, it still works. Americans can be oblivious and self-absorbed, but when push comes to shove, when we really believe it matters, we still come out, stand in line and participate in an orderly process with surprisingly little direction.

I find that the polls always make me confront my assumptions. There are guys in jeans and quilted flannel, John Deere ballcaps, women dressed for factory work, guys in ties - people getting ready to head off in all possible directions for the day, white collar, blue collar, unemployed. That's the beauty of the American election, that everyone has opinions and they're not always what you'd expect or at least not always held by the people you'd expect.

You can't vote if you don't have hope, if you don't believe in the future. Voting means not only that you care, but that you believe that something can come of that caring. As jaded as we are, and after such a battle, it's hopeful just to know that so many people still believe. And yes, this is sappy and idealistic, but so is the belief that people everywhere will think and care and do their part if you give them the chance. Idealism is worth celebrating at least once every four years.