The Difference a Day Makes

I am up late at night worrying about what I will do when I am laid off. What should I do next? Where will I live? When should I give up and move out of New York? It isn't an exaggeration to say I am terrified about my economic prospects.

The country is in an awful mess. My office had another 10% staff reduction a couple of weeks ago, and I suspect the lay offs will continue. The whole publishing industry is dying, so there are practically no job prospects for unemployed publishing professionals.

It is bizarre that under such circumstances, I am stirred by an event that doesn't effect me directly.

I was not an Obama supporter. I backed Hillary because, as a former Washington lobbyist, I knew she was a brilliant politician and I thought he was too inexperienced to be an effective president.

Yet, I could hardly focus on anything but the inauguration today. If I began to even ponder the transition that would take place, I got teary.

The whole office stopped to watch the proceedings on television. I felt foolish bringing a tissue with me to the lobby, and then watched half of my colleagues cry openly and share a big box of tissues.

I couldn't understand what was making me feel so emotional.

Seeing an African-American assume the presidency proves profound changes can happen in the U.S. Seeing an unapologetic liberal garner so much support leads me to believe things will get better. If McCain had won, I assume he would continue the horrid policies that led to this crisis. I would have no hope for recovery.

The expression on George W. Bush's face as he walked through the Capital crypt told a story I was eager to see come to fruition. In the past he had proudly claimed that he did not reflect on or feel regret for his actions. I found this boast deeply disturbing because it shut out hope that he would recognize the harm he caused or feel remorse for it.

As Bush moved toward the inaugural platform, he wore the expression of someone who had come to a dark realization. It appears that during the inauguration he finally realized how much people despise him, his policies, and his effect on the country.

I didn't hear it when I watched the ceremony, but I read in newspaper coverage that the crowd of two million people were loudly booing and hissing as he and Chaney stepped onto the platform. A moment later, the record-breaking large crowd was chanting "O-bam-a" as the president-elect entered the stage.

You could tell by the look on Bush's face that he was bracing under the rebuke. He is a man who prides himself on being liked, and he was just dissed by two million people in one of the most watched live events aired on media outlets around the world.

What is at issue isn't simply the rebuke of a person. It is the wholesale repudiation of his philosophy and policies. For eight years he and his ideological brethren have had free reign to test their ideas -- deregulation, markets managing themselves, trickle down economics, hawkish aggression, indulgence of short-sided gains -- and they have brought this country near to ruination.

It took a while to figure it out, but I realized the source of my tears was profound relief.

To Be Free

There is something about New York City that creates an environment in which people feel free to be themselves, and it is wonderful to witness. It makes me happy to see people enjoy this freedom.

It snowed heavily this morning. As I walked to the subway (5 degrees F with windchill) an older couple ahead of me burst into song about the joy of snow. One would sing a line or two and then the other. I didn't recognize what they were singing. It sounded like a Broadway tune. Maybe they made it up. Regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed their enthusiasm.

On the way home from work, I passed what I am almost certain was a bearded woman. She had delicate features, a long mane of hair, and a very long beard composed of a patch of thin hair at the base of her chin. This beard was about six inches long. She walked with confidence and it is clear that she cherishes her facial hair.

Today I read an essay about George W. Bush's long goodbye from the White House. The author noted that he has used the word "freedom" excessively in public speeches. He said it 27 times in his brief 2004 inaugural address.

Honestly, I am so adverse to George W. Bush's overall philosophy and policies that I don't bother to read his speeches closely. I'm not really sure what he means when he talks about freedom. After all, this is a man who has championed all kinds of surveillance activity that curbs the right to privacy.

I suspect his definition of freedom includes an assertion of Western ideals. For example, that girls can walk to school without worrying about being assaulted with acid.

The Taliban banned music, dictated fashion, regulated facial hair, and made homosexuality a capital crime. Yet, I doubt that George W. Bush would champion the freedom to burst into song on a city street without attracting frowns or strange looks.

I'm not much of a patriot. So, it surprises me to realize that I share with George W. Bush a passion to protect freedom. However, my passion is reserved for the special kind of freedom New Yorkers experience -- the freedom to be a woman and wear a beard, the freedom to sing a duet on a city street. A freedom so absolute one feels entitled to be oneself without censure.

It is the promotion or tolerance of these simple freedoms that create the strongest deviation from extremist regimes. This is precisely the kind of freedom worth fighting for.