On Friday, Haley and I attended an Obama rally in Seattle. Of course it was hyped, front-page news on both local papers, 5,000 people were expected. As we approached the Qwest Events Center, we were even solicited by ticket scalpers. People were everywhere - from all walks of life - in fact, it was the most diverse group of people I have ever seen assembled in Seattle, not to mention at a political rally at this stage in the election.
Once Obama finally took the stage (after the African dancers and a young unknown singer-songewriter performed for over an hour as we waited), I started to see what the fuss was all about, even from the cheap seats where we were stationed. The man is inspiring. I cried. I jumped up from my chair. I shouted. I realized that his words had the power to resurrect the hope that had died inside of me the day George W. Bush was elected for a second term. I left thinking: maybe I am not powerless to affect change.
A couple of weeks ago, while Everett and I were engaged in our Sunday ritual of reading the New York Times, I told him about how I've stopped reading about The War, because it's pointless. The only reasons to read about it would be to get angry or merely to appear well-informed so I could appear impressive in my day to day conversations, I reasoned. Since it doesn't matter that everyone is against The War and that it is built on lies and corruption, and since I have stopped my approval-seeking behaviors, I felt pretty justified in ignoring the bulk of the front page.
But after I heard Obama speak, I remembered that I do care a lot about that war and what a shithole this country has become. I care a lot about social injustice, the cycle of poverty and the lack of health care. While I am not sure about whether I will throw my support behind Obama, I do feel like I have recovered a part of myself, my purpose and I believe, perhaps the inkling of a mission.
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