On Inauguration Day, I just kept thinking it. Then saying it out loud. “In. My. Lifetime.” In my lifetime, we have a woman as Vice President. A woman of color. An intelligent, belligerent, take-no-prisoners woman with a practice of lifting others as she rises. Not everyone agrees with her; that’s fine. She’s not a people-pleaser, but she’s politically savvy enough to moderate her personal opinions and actions to meet the team’s goals. One hundred years after women in this country were finally granted the right to vote. Before the Equal Rights Amendment is finally passed. In my lifetime. It’s about damn time.

In my lifetime, I expected to see a female president of the United States. Raised on the belief that “girls can do anything,” it was just a matter of time. I fully expected the country would reach that milestone four years ago. Like many, I was completely shocked at the outcome of that election. Not all of the country was ready. Many in the country disagreed with that particular woman or found her disagreeable. Not all of the country had admired or respected the Black man who had won the two previous elections and held the office of President for two terms. This time around, about half of the country still said this is not who they wanted as President and Vice President.

Still, I think we will see a female in the highest office in the very near future.

I’m glad. I’m relieved, I’m proud, I’m angry, I’m worried…I’m…hopeful. Glad for Kamala. Relieved that the last four years is over and that there were no reported or visible acts of violence on that day. Angry it took so long and that we’ve endured so many lies, with millions out of work and hundreds of thousands having lost their lives. I’m worried how it all went so quiet so quickly, and worried for the battles yet to come. And hopeful. Hopeful for unity – at least the valiant, transparent attempt at it. Hopeful for the vaccine and the science. Hopeful for the generations coming up, from my own to my kids’ generation, on down to these pandemikids (c’mon, what else to call these children conceived during the downtime of the pandemic?). Though I wonder how this year will affect my teens’ impending adulthood and the choices they make in the future, I can’t help but marvel at the world of possibilities that is visible now.

We can longer say that there’s never been a female Vice President.

The speeches and performances on Inauguration Day were inspiring and had a strong air of “get to work.” Viewers were challenged and dared and moved. And then, as brilliant Amanda Gorman took the stage, with her braids and her red headband, her bright yellow coat and intricate, powerful gestures, I was in tears again. Blown away by her performance and her rhymes, I remembered so many of her astute phrases just as she spoke them. I was compelled to look up the full poem to see all the words together. It was impossible for me to read it on the page without saying her words out loud. Memes and people I interacted with kept referring to Amanda’s youth, and how unexpected it was that these thoughts and this eloquence came from someone so young. I suppose I’m lucky to know so many brilliant young people right now, whose deep thoughts are the things that will carry us forward. The students who organized the March for Our Lives after the Goodman High School shooting come to mind, as do the dozens of brilliant Gold Award Girl Scouts who are actually taking steps to change the world. Not to mention my unbelievably intelligent and versatile colleague, who has put new technology and new ideas into real action and real design in a business that was decidedly stuck in its own magical, mired past. In my lifetime, young people are taking charge again, recognizing their power and acting on the things that are important to them. Amanda Gorman says she plans to run for President when she is 35 years old. Just think what she – and others of her generation – will do in the meantime! We all can take these words to heart:

The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.

The Hill We Climb, by Amanda Gorman

When day comes, we ask ourselves where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry, a sea we must wade.
We’ve braved the belly of the beast.
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace,
and the norms and notions of what ‘just’ is isn’t always justice.
And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it.
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken,
but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.
‘Never been more optimistic’: speeches, songs and celebrations cap Biden’s inauguration day – as it happened 
And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine,
but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose.
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colours, characters, and conditions of man.
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried.
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.
That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.
It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
This effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed,
it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth, in this faith, we trust,
for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared it at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour,
but within it, we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So while once we asked, ‘How could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?’ now we assert, ‘How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?’
We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be:
A country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.
We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change, our children’s birthright.
So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.
With every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the golden hills of the west.
We will rise from the wind-swept north-east where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked south.
We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.
In every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country,
our people, diverse and beautiful, will emerge, battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.