We are children of our era;
our era is political.
Four years ago, I was old enough to vote in my first presidential election. I was living with my parents. I had to brave the terrors of going back to my old high school to cast my ballot. I wore my “I VOTED” sticker all day and into the night, waiting for the results that would validate my efforts and prove that I had made a difference. And then I was crushed.
Nine months later I was in New Orleans, watching Igby Goes Down with my friend and her brother. My friend and I were on a road trip. We’d just been to Bourbon Street and I’d tried a drink called a Hurricane that’s basically an alcoholic Slurpee. At some point, we started talking about the past election, and her brother admitted he hadn’t voted.
“Do you know what the electoral college is?”
“I know what the electoral college is,” I said.
“Votes don’t count,” he said.
The room reeked of pot smoke, and bottlecaps blanketed the floor. When I went to the bathroom, I had to close my eyes, so I avoided the bathroom. Three weeks later, Hurricane Katrina would flood the house, destroy his big screen TV, and ruin most of his belongings, including his passport. Instead of accepting Columbia University’s offer to enroll any Tulane student displaced by the hurricane, he checked into rehab.
My generation is afflicted with apathy. We don’t care. Caring is inconvenient. I know it’s not really fair to make such a blanket statement, but I do know that when I meet someone my age who does care, strongly, about anything other than a band or a relationship, I’m surprised.
The feeling of Never Doing Enough is a powerful spirit-crusher. I felt it four years ago. I feel it when I read the news or when I send ten dollars to the Red Cross in the wake of another disaster. Today I cast my vote in an overheated elementary school auditorium in south Brooklyn. The only ways I know how to quiet that pessimistic voice, the one that casts doubts over my “enoughness” and tries to get me to give in to hopelessness, are one lever pull, one choice, one word at a time.
12thstreetonline's Weblog 
November 4, 2008 at 4:05 pm
When I woke up this morning I felt an urgent need to vote. It was more important than coffee and more important than deodorant.
When I stepped in the booth I couldn’t believe that so much depended on this small little lever. An ‘X’ appeared and that was it. I tried to find something else to pull. I re-read the instructions three times. But nope, that was all I could do.
I walk the streets and keep looking at people’s faces hoping that I’ll see some sort of excitement, or worry, or nervous energy because, after all, this is it. This is the day we’ve been waiting for! But everyone seems completely the same. There is nothing particularly special that I can actually FEEL. It’s made me slightly pessimistic.
But I like how you ended your blog.
One choice. One word at a time.
It’s made me want to escape to writing.
November 4, 2008 at 5:34 pm
Mario, I did the same thing! I kept looking at that big machine, wanting to pull or push something else. It was a tiny X.
I don’t know, though…I do feel a certain buzz in the air…I must have caught election fever from Pat.
November 4, 2008 at 6:37 pm
I felt that similar need to pull or mark another, perhaps larger, X over my choice too. I wanted bells and whistles to sound off. I was so excited and the pay-off didn’t match. However, I am complete excited, kinda like how I was when I voted for Clinton back (which was my first time voting, Leigh)
November 4, 2008 at 6:41 pm
…in the day.