D.C. before the madness and a Roland Burris spotting?

Wednesday, January 08, 2009
Washington DC feels relatively normal. There is talk of upwards of 5 million people converging on the city come next week, yet it seems business as usual here. Classes at the university began today and besides a stern mention about guests during inauguration there has been little to foretell such a historic event happening in twelve days time.
Yet for everything that is normal, suddenly you stumble across some inaugural paraphernalia that reminds you its only twelve days and counting! Like these buttons at the local convenience store? Or this poster in the window of a store in Georgetown? Or how about these Obama cookies at the bakery? Twelve days and Counting, and I am sure it is only going to get worse!

Tuesday, January 7, 2009
I had arrived at the gate surprisingly early, having pretty much thrown my yet unpacked winter clothing into my suitcase as we had rushed out the door of my parent's Redmond home. Little traffic and no lines at security had converged to leave me standing in the concourse waiting for general boarding to be called for my flight to Washington, DC. Not knowing what to do with myself, my eyes roamed the terminal, finally landing on the television monitor playing a feed from CNN. I stood watching for a moment, as several senators stood in the chamber of the capital building, their hands raised as they were sworn in to another six terms as elected representative. Senator Harry Reid was shown making a statement and I barely made out something about a "cloud of doubt" before the gate agent's voice filled the terminal with a cattle call signaling boarding.

As the plane sped down the runway at Sea-Tac Airport it came as no surprise that rain fell in sheets against the windows. As always, I was filled with excitement and apprehension; heading back to Washington is always full of mixed emotions. On one hand I am returning to my friends and life at Georgetown University, on the other I am leaving my family behind. As the wheels left the ground, Seattle slowly grew smaller below. The plane rose up into the clouds, clouds of doubt I thought to myself. A feeling of profound sadness and loss startled me. The ground below popped back into view for the briefest of moments before finally disappearing for good. I stared watching the clouds knowing there was no turning back, for better or worse I was on my way to Washington DC.
One of my favorite parts of the non-stop flight from Seattle to Washington DC is watching the landscape of the nation pass miles below. It never ceases to amaze me how in six hours the diversity and beauty of the nation is so apparent. The white jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains giving way to the Midwest stamped with yellow circles and green squares, finally the long winding rivers that Lewis & Clark explored 150 years ago flow across the landscape. But on this trip the sun slowly moved to the west and the clouds grew darker and before I knew it only the lit wing remained in view. I turned back to the cabin and my seat mate on the flight. I figured he was from the Northwest as he proudly wore his grey tee-shirt with a purple "Washington" emblazed across the front. I tried smiling at him, when I got no response, I tried asking him an innocent question, but sadly he didn’t take my bait to start a conversation.

I was excited to be heading back to DC and was quickly bored with the book I brought along. I was full of energy and wanted to share and talk. Apparently my seat mate didn’t feel quite the same way. He sat staring straight ahead, his tersely crossed arms resting on his stomach. He didn’t smile, didn’t order anything to drink from what remains of the only amenities that are included in airline tickets these days and although he did accept a bag of pretzels, they remained tucked into the seat pocket when we deplaned hours later. I thought for a while about the man, how he was like so many other Americans. Stuck in their seat as we fly through these turbulent times, even with the seat-belt sign illuminating us to the hard times ahead, he remained unflinching, resolute, and determined to arrive at his destination despite the clouds of doubt that may plague our nation. Eventually my mind wondered and my boredom returned, I continued to stare out that small window into the dark world beyond.

My heart, whether out of nervousness or excitement, skipped a beat as the plane slowly began to descend out of the darkness. As we emerged through the clouds, I was saddened to note we were approaching Regan National Airport from the Southeast. The best part of flying into Washington comes from arriving from the Northwest. As one flies over the Potomac, slowly the National Cathedral and my own Georgetown University come into view. One flies over the Watergate Hotel, Kennedy Center and the Lincoln Memorial. Searching the darkened city below, one can make out the White House hiding beneath the towering Washington Monument. To those sitting on the right side of the plane, they see a breathtaking aerial view of the Pentagon. Although standing wholly rebuilt after the September 11th attacks, the memory of that day still leaves scars - if not on the building itself, then on every American's heart.

The plane made a little hop as it landed, as if it too was a little excited to be in the Nation's capital. Before I knew it I was piling my luggage into a cab and heading into the city. As the windshield wipers feverishly attempted to remove the water falling from the sky, I stared out into a darkness quite like the one that covered the rest of the nation. Something in me stirred as I caught sight of the brightly illuminated white marble of the Capitol building rising up against the darkened sky. I briefly thought back to earlier in the day, realizing that it was under this iconic dome that the newly elected Senators had been sworn in. It is here in this building where representatives and ideas from all states converge to guide our country. Slowly I recognized the feeling that the sight of the capital had erupted in me. It was hope. Not just for myself, but hope for the future of the country. A hope that although clouds of doubt and darkness had obscured the country I had spent the last six hours flying over, like the dome standing firm in the night, for me, for the man flying next to me, for all Americans eventually the light of our nation would reach each and every one of us. I smiled, I had arrived home.