Yesterday the country exhaled. Felt elevated. Felt elated. There was a breath of fresh air, and security of tradition, all in one ceremonial go. I danced out of bed, unabashedly in my underwear. That Christmas morning feeling when a little magic meets long-awaited patience. Here we are. A tremendous, damaging, four years. What a chapter. This is our history, this is what we allowed. This is what we have to live with. This is what we need to heal, together. Meetings were canceled, all eyes were on the television, various news stations running with and without sound all day long. 

Kamala stepped up to the podium, respectfully placing her hand on Thurgood Marshall’s bible. I saw Jenna pass by walking Arlo, and yelled out to her, “It’s happening! It’s really happening!” She did an immediate instinctual jig, smiling ear to ear. Our blended sisterly heart pulsed across the sidewalk, thumping in joy. In times like these, I wish I had a daughter to show her. Show her history in real-time. Show her Madam Vice President can be and is a thing. What else could be a thing? Could we be a thing? Mother and daughter...

Instead, I sat in the family room, eyes glued to CNN. I rubbed my belly, feeling confident a little baby soul sat there with me, watching the monumental ceiling shatter. “You are safe, you are strong.” Was I reminding myself? “You are safe now, please be strong.” Was I comforting my baby? Or was I reaching for something that wasn’t there? Hoping. Wishing. Praying. 

Biden took the podium, white hair, and white skin, predictably yet powerfully standing in the wind. Surrounded by his family: sons, daughters, grandkids. They looked at him with awe, protection, and pause. He looked like Grandpa. I missed Grandpa. His smell, his reliability, his precision. Dr. Jill Biden held their five-pound family bible with ease. He placed his hand purposefully upon the leather cover, and began reciting his full name. Chills went down my spine, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Tears streamed. It’s happening, it’s really happening. “You are safe.” 

Safety is relative. Subjective. Comparative by privilege, economics, and everything in between. But for a moment, putting the politics aside and the politically correct checkpoints, I believe there was a moment of comfort that swept through every Americans' spine. From the tips of their toes to the tops of their head. Some in agreement and relief, some in rage perhaps. Nonetheless, the chills were real.

No more narcissistic damage. No longer an egotistical, dangerous, soulless man held the highest power. Reigning by fear and hate. Gleefully dividing our country, our cities, our neighbors, our families, and friends. The destruction is undeniable and the scars aren’t going anywhere. These are ours to bear. But now, finally, at least we can grieve together. And decide how we move from hiding our scars to healing them. Accepting them as our story.

“Here is the thing about life: There is no accounting for what fate will deal you. Some days you need a hand; there are other days when we are called to lend a hand.” - President Joe Biden

I remember going to an Oakland Speaker’s Series with my Dad. Tuesday nights, 7 pm-ish (we were infamous for always being late). I would jump out of 12th Street Bart Station, Dad parked down some alley off the freeway. We’d meet at the corner, any corner, and every corner. One big bear hug squeeze and two glasses of wine later, we’d find seats in the balcony, and our ritual father-daughter date would commence. It was by far, my favorite Tuesday of every month. 

This particular Tuesday was two years ago, when everything felt deteriorated. Joe Biden spoke. He stumbled on his words; seemed out of touch with the rapidly changing technology hurdles and innovations of our time; not to mention the invisible-visible racial division and glaring socioeconomic gap of the 21st century. He referred back to days of the past, talking across the aisle, chumming up with Mr. Republicn so-and-so and Ms. Speaker what’s her name. Foreign policy and diplomatic relations were hot topics due to his time as Vice President. I found that part interesting. It was worth attending, but lord knows I was not impressed. I remember leaving the Fox Theatre, among the wave of people (crowds of humans, together in one place, wow what a thought!). I looked over at my Dad and began venting. “There’s no way Joe knows what’s really going on in the world today,” I said with conviction, as every entitled millennial does. “He’s ancient.” I trailed off by bantering about Bernie and singing Kamala’s praises. “There’s just no way I would ever vote for him. No way.”  My (slightly tipsy) vocabulary was on fire.

And yet, here we are. Looking back on that night, what I actually remember most was this sense of ease, of comfort, listening to Joe speak. He told stories about his son, he told stories of grief, he told stories of making friends on the train, he told stories of humanity. And yes, this is exactly the reminiscent feeling political candidate communications teams strive to burn into your brain and soul, but shit, I’ll admit, it felt good. It felt like home. Our American home has been on fire. Figuratively, for four excruciating long years. Literally, with an unforgivable insurrection finale. Mob riots on the Capitol, fueled by anger, hate, and misguidance. What a cherry on top. It’s ok to want to feel safe, at home again, for now.

Inevitably though, all of us need to fly the coop or get pushed out of the nest. It’s easier to do so when you feel like there’s a foundation to stand on when you fall. Right now, we’re in a time of rebuilding, healing, grieving. Joe Biden’s purpose, his moment, is now. He is an old white man, yes. He is not radical when it comes to drastic policy mind shifts, nor creative when it comes to new societal standards. But he’s what we got. And he’s going to get us through this rampant darkness.

He’ll get us out to see a shimmering glimpse of light; what was and what can be. Then he’ll gracefully pass the torch. He’ll pass a lit torch to the next generation of leaders. Our leaders. Our voices. They will be heard. Voices of empathy, equity, and collaboration. Our voices, demanding basic human rights for all, begging for clean air to breathe hundreds of years from now, and problem-solving together above all. Our voices, reciting and learning from the mistakes and successes of our past. He’s the grandpa we all need right now. He knows the past, the structure of this nest. Without a doubt, when the time comes, Joe will be the first to push us out of the coop, gleefully watch us fly, and likely fall. But at least we’ll have ground to land on.

So little baby soul, you are safe, and you are strong. It’s real, and it’s happening. It’s a process. It will always be a process. But you are invited to join. Join the conversation and use that voice of yours. We are all ready to hear it. And can’t wait to listen. 

“We will not march back to what was but move to what shall be, a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free, we will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, our blunders become their burden. But one thing is certain: if we merge mercy with might and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.” - Amanda Gorman