Chapter 44: A New Hope

For the first time in 8 years, I was not embarrassed or saddened to be an American.

For the first time in my life, I placed my flag outside and it wasn't a holiday.

For the first time in my life, I was excited about, planned for, and watched, a presidential inauguration.

For the first time in my life, my belief in a better and brighter tomorrow doesn't feel like baseless faith.

Tattoo Me

Well, I got my first (and probably last) tattoo yesterday (sorry for the blurry image; it's on my inner right forearm and I'm right-handed).

Why? Well I'm coming up on a milestone birthday (for me; not one of those rounded-off, nice-and-neat every 10 year dates they sell you on greeting cards) and I wanted to treat myself.

Honestly, it's been a wonderful and horrible year at the same time. I wanted the tattoo to reflect that; to reflect me and my writing, and serve as a reminder of what's important and how I can battle through.

And battle through I did. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but this was rough. The outlining wasn't bad at first, but near the end I felt like all of the nerves in my arm were at attention. Tolerable. But then the shading started. There are not words for how much control it took to keep my arm still. I caught myself clenching my other hand and looked up at the TV in the room. Didn't help. Concentrated on what she was doing to try and numb myself to the sensation. Didn't help. For those of you who haven't had a tattoo, or forgotten what it feels like, I'll make a feeble attempt to describe.

Imagine inserting the very tip of a knife into your arm and dragging it around and back and forth for 10-15 minutes. Now that everything's nice and ultra sensitive, think of the equivalent of a meat tenderizer with blades instead of those little nubby ends. Automate the meat tenderizer and apply it to your near-screaming flesh. Press, drag, repeat.

At one point I could feel various parts of the tattoo area going numb. Thank goodness, I thought, my body's natural defenses are kicking in. But it was fleeting. Apparently my body felt I needed to feel this.

For many reasons, I guess it was right.

I'm looking forward to the challenges of 2009. It's all I can do, really. Curling up into a ball like I was tempted to so many times this year is just not an option. And now I have my badge to remind me, every day, that you can break through to the other side of pain and find something beautiful waiting for you.

The Politics of Crying

I barely slept on Monday night. I woke up at 2:45 in the morning, wide awake, wondering if it was time to go vote yet. I got to the polling place 20 minutes early (6:40 AM) and was second in line. Voted and was on my way to work by 7:10. And the line wasn't all that long, which worried me.

An anxious day at work, with my wonderful coworkers who are intelligent, passionate people driving each other crazy with early polling results as we all prepared to leave for the day. And cry. Either way, we professed.

On my way home, the polling place was empty. 6 PM and two hours to go, and no long lines like on the news. Those bastards better have voted absentee, I thought.

At home I toggled between ABC and CNN. Widely disparate numbers for a while, then suddenly they came together and were declaring victory for Obama. At 8 PM?? I had prepared myself for a long, agonizing night, steeled against the devastating crash of the high hope I'd felt back in 2000 with Al Gore's "victory." I scrolled through every network. All saying the same thing. I scrolled through them again. Then I waited.

Even with McCain's concession, I was unbelieving. Then Obama spoke. Calmly, reassuringly, proudly. But it appeared that strong emotion was for another place, or another time.

I cried when they made the announcements. I cried when they showed the crowds. I cried when they showed Jesse Jackson crying. And I cried when they showed a sea of faces, young and old, mostly white, putting their hope, trust, and lives in the hands of this young black man.

But it wasn't the crying fit I had anticipated. It was a silent and steady and cleansing release. Because maybe now it's time for us to stop weeping over what's happening with this country. Maybe it's time for us to wipe our faces, dust ourselves off, and live again.