I was nervous this morning. On the bus with the window open, I listened to the morning news predict what Biden would talk about in his speech. It didn’t feel real. It still doesn’t feel real. That this happened without a hitch. No bombs, no disturbances, no last minute tweet-storms.
9:06 AM, the New York Times reported: “Donald J. Trump’s presidential pool in Palm Beach is preparing to disband. There will be no more minute-by-minute reports of his movements going forward”. Thank God.
I started crying right at the beginning, during the convocation. I’m still crying, I think. I didn’t expect to be so emotional. But watching Kamala Harris (why do we only refer to women by their first names?) face Justice Sotomayor and declare “so help me God” with such utter conviction… How could I not be?
Joe Biden and his huge family bible represent, for me, relief. A bone deep awareness of how frustrating, and scary, and discouraging the last four years have been. A long exhale now that the nuclear codes are no longer controlled by a Twitter-fiend. But the relief is accompanied by the feeling that it’s time to push harder. Say your car crashed and got stuck. For the last four years the car was on fire… necessitating urgent and immediate action. Now that the fire is under control, we still gotta push that baby back onto the road.
But enough about Joe and the general state of the nation.
We have a Madame Vice President. A Madame Vice President who smiles with her eyes, and wears shiny lip gloss. Who’s only 5’3 and doesn’t always wear heels. Who’s cuddly af with her husband and doesn’t try to hide it. She’s a woman. Not just a “female politician”. She’s a whole- ass woman who happens to be in politics. Excuse me, who happens to be Vice President of The United States of America.
The tears I cried watching her take her oath were also tears of relief. Relief at the affirmation of a truth I have long suspected. That it’s ok to wear fun shoes and still want to be taken seriously. It’s ok to be smiley and flirtatious and still want to be taken seriously. It’s ok to wear shiny lip gloss, and be short, and be colorful and be loud and still want to be taken seriously. It’s ok to be a woman — your own woman, as you are, without trying to smush yourself into a man-shaped box — and still want to be taken seriously.
Watching Kamala D. Harris, Vice President of The United States of America, stand head-high in front of an entire nation sure in the knowledge that she, a whole-ass woman, deserved to be there cemented in me the determination to never again accept my personality or identity as justification for being taken less than seriously. I don’t need to question whether pursuing certain paths would necessitate the dulling down and smoothing out of my being. I am capable, and I am fun. I am strong, and I am pretty. And I don’t have to choose.
So while Vice President Harris was taking her oath, I was taking my own. To protect and defend my own right to be taken seriously from all enemies, without and within. A quieter oath, for sure, but I said the last words out loud right along with her…
So help me God.
