I hadn’t realized how stressful these past years had been until I crept under my covers on Wednesday night. It was little more than 24 hours after the polls closed and election data were slowly dripping in, but I was confident that Joe Biden and Kamala Harris would emerge as the winners. Data from Nevada and Arizona were looking good and their full count would surely push him over the top to 270. Many votes from the Philadelphia and Pittsburgh areas were still waiting to be entered in Pennsylvania, and Georgia was still too close to call. There, Stacy Abrams had worked her magic and the two Senate races would move to a run-off in January, determining the fate of the Senate.
For four years our country has lived under the boot of a madman. Our current president lacks the bandwidth, the curiosity, the introspection, the consistency, and the empathy required for leadership of a nation born of revolution for democracy. We have lived on the cusp of fascism, as more and more governmental officials have bent to his will and the ugliness of hate and violence has been given free rein.
On Wednesday night, I exhaled. I felt the coolness of my pillow and the breeze through the open window, the firmness of my mattress, the quiet of the night. I started to feel safe once again.
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