Someone once sniped at me in the comments section after I’d done a political post, telling me I should stick with writing about my wedding. It’s a fair point. The world should not know the cold terror of a day in which I do not opine about Bridal Betty tinker dye. But it’s advice that I have been unable to heed at times throughout the primary and general election.
* I’ve flirted shamelessly with Texas, Ohio, and Pennsylvania.
* I’ve pointed my Strawberry Shortcake bike with the rad pink streamers hanging off the handles northward and hoped for the best. Then several months later, pedaled it south for two months with similar hopes.
* I’ve looked out as 75,000 people stood hushed so they wouldn’t miss anything when a man offered them not fear or prejudice or failed plans or folly, but instead, hope and change in their most figurative and concrete forms.
It comes down to this then. The last day of this protracted campaign season is upon us and here I am blogging not about cake fillings or first dance selections, but politics. With respect to my disgruntled commenter, tomorrow is very much about my marriage. It’s about the world that my husband and I stare out at with a week under our belts and a lifetime ahead. It’s about the world we would bring children into.
It’s about finally knowing that there need not be audacity in hope.