new pic: Reuters

I am still too overwhelmed to get my thoughts completely straight.

Outside, there were people spilling out of the buildings of my otherwise quiet Brooklyn neighborhood. Cars were honking and flashing lights, an incredibly diverse group of Brooklyn College kids were cheering and singing and dancing, filling the sidewalks like a Mardi Gras parade. No cops came to stop them. No scowling passersby rolled their eyes. Instead, people high fived strangers. They hugged their neighbors. The streets were teary and joyous and magical.

It felt cathartic as much as celebratory; like a heavy weight lifted off our collective chests. Like enchanted statues in some sci-fi movie cracking open and revealing living humans once again. Like a triumph of hope over hatred. Of progress over fear.

At an election watching party last night, one friend turned to me and asked whether I was going to wake my kids and give them the news. I told her I wasn’t sure; I think they were too little to understand, even if the night really belonged to them.

Then I turned to her and said, “Our children – they’re going to grow up during the Obama years.”

She squeezed my hand and we cried together.