On Thursday at lunch, Mark and I went to vote, an activity we’ve done together our entire marriage. In earlier days, we voted on Election Day or Primary Election Day. On the years we were poll workers, we voted absentee. Over the past few years, we’ve shifted to voting early. One constant: we go vote together.
There’s nothing fancy about voting here in Morgan County, Indiana. The voting center is set up in a church fellowship hall. There are several poll workers we see each election. The chat is the same about photo ID, do I still live at the same address, sign here with your finger or a stylus, and then wait over there behind those folding chairs until a machine is free and someone comes to get you. The machines themselves aren't noteworthy — a couple of screens, push buttons, two tiny lightbulbs, a big red button, and tiny little privacy screens, all situated in a purpose-built briefcase attached to telescoping legs. Even the I Voted stickers are unremarkable -- small, simple ovals with an American flag.
The thing is, even though none of the mechanics of voting are remarkable, the whole enterprise of us coming together to cast our votes will ALWAYS be breathtaking to me.
I registered to vote as soon as I was eligible, with the deep understanding that people I knew and loved had fought in World War II to defend democracy. I had a vague understanding that my grandpa was deeply affected by the experience of serving in the Army in the Pacific because he'd hardly talk about it. I'd learned the word "suffrage" in history class and understood that women like me hadn't always had the right to vote. I've always been a government nerd, so I also felt like voting was a way for me to take action on one of the days I was invited to do so. My early experiences of voting were deeply grounded in a sense of obligation to vote as a sign of respect and appreciation for those who sacrificed for all of us to have the right to vote.
Thirty years in, I experience voting not only as a sign of respect and appreciation for the ancestors, but also with the sense of our interconnection and duty to each other. I am connected to each and every other being on this planet. Whether or not I agree with other human beings' policy positions or ever meet them, our destinies are tied together. Same goes with each and every one of my fellow Americans, including those who cast their votes and those who don't, and those who cast their votes for people and policies with which I strongly disagree.
Many people are experiencing unpleasant emotions and are worried about the outcome of this election, including me. My practice is to allow the unpleasant to exist along with the pleasant. If I'm paying attention, I realize each time I cast a vote (or intentionally don't cast a vote) for a person or question, I am expressing my agency in a very tangible way. The act of voting supports the social dimension of my well-being by allowing me to specifically cast votes for the people and policies that I want to guide how we live together in community. Voting supports my spiritual well-being as I take a moment to pause, set an intention that my votes are made with the well-being of all beings in mind and heart, and feel an embodied sense of being one small part of an interconnected world before pressing the red button to record my vote.
As with most things in my life, if I am paying attention enough to notice, the magic actually happens in the most mundane, un-fancy of places, like on a Thursday afternoon in October in a church fellowship hall on Indiana Street in Mooresville.
If you have already voted, thank you for supporting our collective well-being. And if you haven't yet, GO VOTE!
I LOVE this reflection! Spot on! Thank you for sharing this!