Yesterday, I took a train to Manhattan to stand among my peers and watch the election results come in. This was the same ritual I performed four years previous—and four years before that—to hear the roar each time the blue strip edged closer to the fated 270.
Last night at 2am, I left Rockefeller Plaza struggling to identify an ache inside me that I hadn’t felt in almost a decade. I kept asking my brother: “how could we be so deluded?” His response was that we weren’t the ones that were deluding ourselves. I understand what he meant, of course. Despite Hillary winning the popular vote, just as Al Gore had in 2000, she didn’t win the election. But this wasn’t the delusion I was feeling. Read more