On the joy of braving giant crowds to stand in the freezing cold.

So, I'll be honest. Earlier this week, I wasn't so excited about the inauguration. Election night had been one of the most electric, monumental events of my life, and for a while I had been looking forward to the inauguration as a way to re-live that excitement. However, as my house mates and I figured out how many people could crash at our house that week (turns out a lot!), and I got caught up in the post holiday rush, the inauguration began to look like a hassle. I realized that what I'd loved about election night was the spontaneity of it all (college students dancing on bus shelters, homeless men giving young professionals high fives), which seemed very far from the impeccably planned inauguration. I began to tell people that I was looking forward to being able to say that I'd lived through the inauguration, but that I was dreading the actual inauguration day.

So, when I came home from Philadelphia on Saturday, I was a bit of a curmudgeon. It took 2 hours to get into my favorite restaurant, everything was crowded and no one seemed able to figure out how to use the Metro escalators (you stand on the RIGHT, people!). Early, on, I felt a bit at odds with my fabulous guests, who were giddy with excitement about the giant block party that seemed to be invading my quaint little town.

But, in an attempt to be a gracious host, I agreed to go with them to the inauguration concert at the Lincoln Memorial. "Argh," I thought. "Why am I standing outside to see something on a JumboTron when I could just be watching it at home?" Then, as the national anthem started, I started to realize why I and my guests had chosen to brave the cold and the crowds to be there. I glanced over at the man next to me, and saw that he was holding his child on his shoulder, singing the anthem, with tears running down his face. Then, afterwards, the whole crowd joined Mary J. Blige in singing "Lean on Me." We were all there, dancing, and crying and singing TOGETHER. And I suddenly realized that that was why I braved the cold that day (and two day later for the actual inauguration). It wasn't just so that I could someday be able to tell my children that "I was there." And it (certainly) wasn't because I expected to see anything better than I'd be able to see at home on my TV. It was because I got to be there, sharing the experience with children waving U.S. and Kenyan flags, men who graciously moved out of the way so that we short folks could see the JumboTron and older ladies who cracked jokes and made small talk to pass the time in the stressful and overcrowded metro stations.

I feel privileged to have watched history being made, not just with my (fantastic) family and friends, but with U.S. Americans and well-wishers from all over the world. And that's something that I could have never done in the comfort of my own home.

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