The audacity - and raw ache - of hope
A little less than two years ago now, I made a post in anguish. I was in anguish at the state of our country. I was in anguish, then, because I despaired. I made that post as a desperate, helpless plea - a plea from a sixteen-year-old girl begging for a hero. Begging for someone, anyone - there must be someone - who could stand and say with certainty that they deserved to stand on the shoulders of giants, as we all do in this country. Begging for someone who had the integrity to maybe become a giant themselves.
I didn't watch the news the way I do now. Two years ago, I would turn on CNN in the morning to see what disasters had befallen the country, what celebrity had recently made a blunder. At night, I would turn on Comedy Central and watch Jon Stewart, the only man I truly considered heroic, and listen to him throw metaphorical spitballs - his words, not mine - at those in charge. It gave my sixteen-year-old heart a secret, furtive sense of rebellion, one which I cherished.
Now I watch the news with a new ache. I watch the news because it is the only way I have to see the people vying so desperately for my attentions and my money. I watch it because I will vote in November, for the first time, and will be able to make the vote change one small billionth of a percent.
This morning I woke up early - or it might be more accurate to say I simply never went to sleep. I went downstairs and, instead of turning on the same talking heads I remembered from before I left for New York City, I turned on another set - Scarborough and his co-host on Morning Joe. I listened the entire morning as guest after guest extolled the brilliance of the Obama campaign machine, and the brilliance of his victory speech in Iowa. And because I missed it on Thursday, I scoured YouTube to find Barack Obama's victory speech in Iowa.
I am proud and unashamed to say that I had a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes before the end of that speech. I have for two years since that post in 2006 watched with an increasing ache deep in my bones as more scandal, more gladhanding, more old, tired politics streamed past until I wanted to march up to Washington myself and shake them until their teeth rattled around and their synapses sparked. This man, and this campaign, and this message - it hasn't put a bandage or a balm over the ache. It has torn it wide open, ripped off the callous that you have to develop when watching the politics of closed-door deals, and it has made it raw again.
The ache I had then and have again now is what this man has been talking about since the Democratic National Convention in 2004 - raw, unadulterated hope.
I will be the first to admit that I am young - two years ago I was a sixteen-year-old girl looking for heroes. Now I'm an eighteen-year-old girl that still doesn't feel like a woman - still looking for heroes. I am idealistic, both eager and desperate for hope and a face to put that hope to. I feel, because it is how I personally feel, that the country needs hope. I may not agree with everything Obama says. I certainly am not innocent enough to believe that he will even do everything he says, because his goals are so lofty, so full of hope, that it is easier to assume they will not be accomplished than to place trust that they will and later be betrayed. I am full of passion and eagerness and the raw ache of hope - which to my mind is better than being full of skepticism and cynicism and the callous assumption of defeat, which in the naysayers' minds could come for any number of reasons: he is young, he is black, he is inexperienced, he doesn't play the game.
Yes. He is young, and black, and inexperienced, and doesn't play the game. All this and more is what makes my aching hope clamor louder and louder for more, more, more. More hope, more passion, more fire, more life. It is a life that invigorated Iowa, that I hope can invigorate New Hampshire, and the whole country. It is a life that I desperately, desperately hope will put this man on a ballot in November, so that I may send my special pile of paperwork from 1,600 miles outside the state of my residency that allows me to exercise my voice with the confidence and joy that I have chosen the man best suited to the job, the one who has given another quote in my line of quotes to fan the fires of my passion for this country to a fever flame - "the audacity of hope."
I may be premature, but I place it beside the ones I extolled in that 2006 post crying out for someone to come in my generation and lead my people. The ones that include "We the people," "I lift up my lamp," "Give me liberty or give me death," and yes, even "I have a dream."
I am not young enough to believe that my voice alone can change the tide. I am not arrogant enough to believe that my billionth of a percent can even hope to elect the next president. I am just cynical enough to know the fallacy of the very generation I have such hope for - the fallacy of apathy, which is the one thing that may destroy the audacity of hope. I plead, bully, cajole and try my absolute damndest, with all the passion and hope of an eighteen-year-old girl, who still doesn't feel like a woman, who still searches for heroes, to overturn the fallacy of apathy with the audacity of hope.
I would be lying if I said I didn't care who my generation voted for - I obviously care more than I thought I ever could. But even if they do not vote for the man I believe can turn this country back into what it was once meant to be, I will be satisfied, mollified, by the fact that they voted at all. And I will feel betrayed if I find they did not. That is my plea, the reason for this long and probably overly wordy post on a Monday afternoon with little sleep - I have a pile of paperwork I must file before I am permitted my voice. Most of my generation has a short car ride and an even shorter time spent in a top-of-the-line electronic voting booth. Please, even if you don't agree with me, even if you think my candidate is the worst choice possible, please take the car ride and push the buttons. That is all I have the right to ask of you.
I didn't watch the news the way I do now. Two years ago, I would turn on CNN in the morning to see what disasters had befallen the country, what celebrity had recently made a blunder. At night, I would turn on Comedy Central and watch Jon Stewart, the only man I truly considered heroic, and listen to him throw metaphorical spitballs - his words, not mine - at those in charge. It gave my sixteen-year-old heart a secret, furtive sense of rebellion, one which I cherished.
Now I watch the news with a new ache. I watch the news because it is the only way I have to see the people vying so desperately for my attentions and my money. I watch it because I will vote in November, for the first time, and will be able to make the vote change one small billionth of a percent.
This morning I woke up early - or it might be more accurate to say I simply never went to sleep. I went downstairs and, instead of turning on the same talking heads I remembered from before I left for New York City, I turned on another set - Scarborough and his co-host on Morning Joe. I listened the entire morning as guest after guest extolled the brilliance of the Obama campaign machine, and the brilliance of his victory speech in Iowa. And because I missed it on Thursday, I scoured YouTube to find Barack Obama's victory speech in Iowa.
I am proud and unashamed to say that I had a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes before the end of that speech. I have for two years since that post in 2006 watched with an increasing ache deep in my bones as more scandal, more gladhanding, more old, tired politics streamed past until I wanted to march up to Washington myself and shake them until their teeth rattled around and their synapses sparked. This man, and this campaign, and this message - it hasn't put a bandage or a balm over the ache. It has torn it wide open, ripped off the callous that you have to develop when watching the politics of closed-door deals, and it has made it raw again.
The ache I had then and have again now is what this man has been talking about since the Democratic National Convention in 2004 - raw, unadulterated hope.
I will be the first to admit that I am young - two years ago I was a sixteen-year-old girl looking for heroes. Now I'm an eighteen-year-old girl that still doesn't feel like a woman - still looking for heroes. I am idealistic, both eager and desperate for hope and a face to put that hope to. I feel, because it is how I personally feel, that the country needs hope. I may not agree with everything Obama says. I certainly am not innocent enough to believe that he will even do everything he says, because his goals are so lofty, so full of hope, that it is easier to assume they will not be accomplished than to place trust that they will and later be betrayed. I am full of passion and eagerness and the raw ache of hope - which to my mind is better than being full of skepticism and cynicism and the callous assumption of defeat, which in the naysayers' minds could come for any number of reasons: he is young, he is black, he is inexperienced, he doesn't play the game.
Yes. He is young, and black, and inexperienced, and doesn't play the game. All this and more is what makes my aching hope clamor louder and louder for more, more, more. More hope, more passion, more fire, more life. It is a life that invigorated Iowa, that I hope can invigorate New Hampshire, and the whole country. It is a life that I desperately, desperately hope will put this man on a ballot in November, so that I may send my special pile of paperwork from 1,600 miles outside the state of my residency that allows me to exercise my voice with the confidence and joy that I have chosen the man best suited to the job, the one who has given another quote in my line of quotes to fan the fires of my passion for this country to a fever flame - "the audacity of hope."
I may be premature, but I place it beside the ones I extolled in that 2006 post crying out for someone to come in my generation and lead my people. The ones that include "We the people," "I lift up my lamp," "Give me liberty or give me death," and yes, even "I have a dream."
I am not young enough to believe that my voice alone can change the tide. I am not arrogant enough to believe that my billionth of a percent can even hope to elect the next president. I am just cynical enough to know the fallacy of the very generation I have such hope for - the fallacy of apathy, which is the one thing that may destroy the audacity of hope. I plead, bully, cajole and try my absolute damndest, with all the passion and hope of an eighteen-year-old girl, who still doesn't feel like a woman, who still searches for heroes, to overturn the fallacy of apathy with the audacity of hope.
I would be lying if I said I didn't care who my generation voted for - I obviously care more than I thought I ever could. But even if they do not vote for the man I believe can turn this country back into what it was once meant to be, I will be satisfied, mollified, by the fact that they voted at all. And I will feel betrayed if I find they did not. That is my plea, the reason for this long and probably overly wordy post on a Monday afternoon with little sleep - I have a pile of paperwork I must file before I am permitted my voice. Most of my generation has a short car ride and an even shorter time spent in a top-of-the-line electronic voting booth. Please, even if you don't agree with me, even if you think my candidate is the worst choice possible, please take the car ride and push the buttons. That is all I have the right to ask of you.