After almost two years, I still can't believe that we're likely less than 48 hours away from knowing our next president. The memories of the last two years are endless with respect to this election. I remember seeing John Edwards speak before a small, but packed room here in San Francisco. I remember nearly breaking down after Obama's race speech in Philadelphia. I remember screaming at the TV when I saw Hillary's 3am ad. I remember being shocked at how poor Bill Richardson was performing in the debates. I remember being unable to stomach the republican primary debates. I remember finding some comedy in Mike Huckabee. I remember many, many debates. And I remember watching this young guy from Illinois turn into one of the greatest presidential candidates this country has ever seen.
But above it all, what I remember most is departing the polling place last weekend, after casting my vote for Barack Obama and Joe Biden, feeling a chill from head to toe, hopping into my car, pulling away and blasting Bruce Springsteen's "The Promised Land". My windows were down, the sky was solid blue, strangers were walking the sidewalk, and after eight years of anger, sadness and disappointment, I once again felt America.
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