I am a procrastinator. I am probably the liberal equivalent of the 101st Chairborne Division--the person whose total contribution to the political process is sitting in front of his computer, arguing with someone who is Wrong on the Internet. And today, for the first time, I volunteered for a political candidate.
Throughout the primaries, I contributed megabytes of text to blogs like ObWi and Redstate, but despite the ease of donating to the Obama campaign, I never opened my wallet or made the call.
Throughout the general, the volume of my opinions on the Internet grew, but I never donated or volunteered. I had lots of opportunities, but it was always "next week", or "after this paycheck".
I moved last year and didn't update my voter registration until two weeks ago. I showed up at my local election office on the very last day you could register, and stood in line for half an hour on my lunch break to do it.
They reissued a ballot to my correct address, but I never sifted through my mail to find it. I didn't even fill it out until this morning, minutes before I walked out the door--after some frantic googling to find out who these judges were and what I should think about I-1029.
And then, a week before the election, I had an epiphany.
For the procrastinator, there is always Later, Tomorrow, Next Week, Next Month, or I'll Get Around to It. But history does not wait for procrastinators. History passes and is written whether or not we lift a finger, and we own the consequences regardless of what we do to assist or stand athwart. The question we have to ask ourselves in this election is whether we can live with the outcome, regardless of what it may be, secure in the knowledge that we have done something about it. Do we take ownership of history, or does it own us?
My epiphany was nothing dramatic or remarkable, merely the common-sense realization that if I let this election pass me by without doing anything other than voting and arguing on the Internet, I would not be able to live with the consequences, regardless of what they might be. If, as seems likely, Obama wins the Presidency, that win would be tainted by the realization that yet again, I did nothing of substance. If McCain pulls off the biggest upset in our history, I would forever carry the guilt of my inaction. My sense of responsibility would be lessened, but still acute, with respect to Darcy Burner and Chris Gregoire's campaigns; Washington State needs them in office.
I had already requested the 4th and 5th off, because I like sitting in front of the computer all day watching poll returns. We are dead broke right now, so I emailed my mother in Virginia to ask if she could afford a plane ticket so that I could come out and volunteer for the local Obama campaign. It was possible, but I was persuaded by her friend Iney, who pointed out that I would do far more good volunteering locally, phone banking, that sort of thing.
Still, the procrastination continued. Days passed where I could have been phone banking from the comfort of my own home, and still no action (in fairness, the last month at work has been filled with 70-hour days). Last night, I called the Bellevue Obama campaign, but they must have been very busy, and didn't answer. I could've left a message, but I didn't. What's the point? The campaigning was over. It was too late, I reasoned, to do anything to change the course of what would be.
But after a good night's sleep, Election Day arrived. I resolved that history would not pass me by again, and I called the Obama campaign back. A nice young woman said that they needed help canvassing, said to come down. I hopped in my car and went.
I don't know what I expected, but the office was chaos, and parking was nonexistent. I rolled in and met the woman I spoke to on the phone, and she directed me to Gregoire's office down the street. There I was given a clipboard and map, a list of names, and a pile of door flyers advertising the Democratic candidates and telling people where to vote. And off I went!
That didn't go so well. I'm not an experienced canvasser, and the list was a bit confusing, but after plotting the addresses on my iPhone, I was able to figure out a good route for the district. Unfortunately I think another campaign had already been through there. I ran into a lot of people who either already had the same flyers on their doors, or who said someone else had already been by that morning. Still, I got a bunch hung up and had some good conversations with voters, and after getting about halfway through the list with the same kind of results, I called the campaign and came back to the office.
At this point hours had passed and it was lunchtime. The organizer told me to go get some food and come back around noon--it seems that Dino Rossi was planning an appearance on the busy corner of 116th and NE 8th, not far from our campaign office. The plan was to go out there and wave a whole bunch of signs, so I ran home, picked up Jess, and brought her back for an additional body.
We had fun! Rossi's people were all clustered on one corner, and the other three corners were a swarm of Obama, Gregoire and Burner signs. The composition of the street corners changed over time, but at no time did I feel outnumbered. I even mustered enough courage to take my sign over to the Rossi corner for a while, where a small handful of Democrats were staging a noble rearguard action.
After an hour, Rossi and the news crews had left, so the initial reason for being there was gone, but we still stuck around for a while, talking with other Democrats and enjoying the waving and honking from supportive drivers. Eventually our hands were starting to freeze, and there was an awful man with a Rossi sign who kept walking through all the Democratic crowds smoking a cigar, so we'd about had enough.
Before returning home, I stopped by Crossroads and dropped off my ballot. It's done.
I'm wiped out, my phone's out of charge, and my Renaud's is starting to affect the circulation in my hands again. It's starting to pour outside, and admittedly, the last half hour of just sitting down in a warm house has been nice. But there's still hours left in the day, and I’m probably going to go back out again.
This morning wasn't too late to take ownership of history, and this evening isn't too late either. You can still make a difference.
I think I will like what I see in the mirror tomorrow. And I think I will be happy with the piece of history I own.