I stood in line, outside of a palm-lined church.
It was early in the morning, on a Tuesday in Florida. And I was preparing to take part in an election.
As I waited for the opportunity to cast my ballot, a strange feeling came over me.
I was a first-time voter. I hadn’t been old enough to vote in prior federal elections, so I had never experienced any of this firsthand.
Now, I was about to make a consequential decision. One of the most consequential of my life to date.
I was about to have my say over who would be the next President of the United States.
The line started to move. Moments later, I was handing a poll worker my voter registration card. And then I was in a booth, my ballot in front of me, and the moment of truth at hand.
What would my next move be?
I am a planner.
Like an expert chess player, I am always thinking two or three steps ahead. I am always seeking to avoid surprises.
So, as I embarked on my first voting journey, I had already done my homework.
I had followed the news coverage of the race. I had checked out the candidates’ websites. And I’d attended rallies for each of them — one of the benefits of attending college in a major city in a swing state.
Yet, none of it made the decision any less clear to me.
With the incumbent U.S. President facing term limits, each candidate would be new to the role. Plus, they would be taking the helm during the worst economic recession in a generation.
I found each intriguing in different ways. But I wondered how well their campaign slogans would hold up in the face of our nation’s bleak reality.
There were no easy answers. And so, as I stood in the voting booth that November morning, I agonized over my decision.
What if I made the wrong choice? What would that decision say about me?
I could feel the gravity of the moment crushing me. But as the pressure mounted, a voice in my head urged me to take a step back. To lift my gaze from the names on the paper and to think of the bigger picture.
For this moment was special.
Never again would I have the luxury of making a choice like this with no track record. Never again would I be free to decide without the crushing weight of precedent. Never again would I be a blank slate.
Remember this moment, I told myself. Cherish it.
After a few moments of hemming and hawing, I made my choice. I filled out the remainder of the ballot, submitted it, and left the polling place.
On the short walk home, I kept replaying the prior moments in my mind. How would I explain my choice to others who asked about it?
I didn’t have to wait long to find the answers.
Once I made it back to the house, I fixed up some breakfast. As I did, one of my housemates walked into the kitchen. He noticed my I voted sticker and asked me who I chose to be the next President.
I gave my answer, and he followed up with another question: Why?
I like the platform the other guy was running on, I replied. I do. But I just don’t trust him to get it done.
My housemate listened intently. He was not an American citizen, and thus would not be voting. This interaction would be the closest he got to the election.
He was the perfect person to spill the beans to regarding my choice. He had no skin in the game and no prejudice.
The conversation loosened me up. Whether my ideology was being fossilized or cognitive dissonance was setting in, I don’t know. But I felt more confident in my decision than ever. I knew I had made the right choice.
Later that evening, I stared at the television in disbelief. “The other guy” — the one who I thought was too ambitious to succeed — had won the White House.
My vote had come up short.
I stared at the image on the screen, the one that read President-Elect Barack Obama. It didn’t seem real.
But as I mused about what the months and years ahead would look like, I didn’t sulk or despair. I remained hopeful.
Change was coming. And while I might not have selected the particular brand of change, it was still an electrifying moment.
Then, there was the lineage aspect. Barack Obama would be the first Black president in United States history.
I thought immediately of my grandfather. He was likely sitting in his easy chair, about 1300 miles north of me, at that moment.
My grandfather had seen a lot in his eight decades of life. But while he had voted in 14 elections before, he had never experienced development like this. It was as new for him as it was for me.
My sense of shock was replaced by one of awe. A simple process — standing in line and casting a ballot — had consequences that were truly profound.
There are few more precious rights in America than that of the franchise.
Our nation operates under the charter of freedom. Of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
And central to that charter is the ability to choose. We can decide where to live. We can decide how to earn our keep. And we can decide who can represent us in government.
Of course, not all of us have had this ability over the years. Women and ethnic minorities have infamously only had the power of the vote for about a century or less. But these days, the biggest thing stopping us from voting is ourselves.
Politics have roiled us, divided us, and stigmatized us in recent years. We’ve come to view political parties as if they were rival football teams, instead of two components of a common goal. And those stakes have made Election Day more frightening to many than the Halloween holiday that precedes it.
But while our cultural fragmentations have made elections fraught, they are still critical. The mandate of our charter of freedom is still intact. And it’s up to us to fight through the angst and fulfill our obligations.
Doing what is uncomfortable is never easy. But perhaps, a change of perspective can help. By taking our mind off the consequences of the task at hand — and instead, taking a wider view — we might find all the motivation we need to get the job done.
So, let’s recapture the wonder of voting. Let’s harken back to that feeling we had the first time we stood at the polling place.
The awe. The power. The goosebumps. Let’s summon those once again.
The act of voting matters as much as the choices we make. Let’s make sure it matters to us.