Today was both solemn day and joyful. In California, the ceremony was in progress when I started the live feed at 8:20am. The new president was sworn in before 9am. I cried three times as I watched, stirred by the words, by songs — Lady Gaga’s rendition of America the Beautiful was surprisingly emotional.
President Biden declared:
“I will defend America. I will give my all in your service thinking not of power, but of possibilities. Not of personal interest, but of the public good. And together, we shall write an American story of hope, not fear. Of unity, not division.Of light, not darkness. An American story of decency and dignity.Of love and of healing.Of greatness and of goodness. May this be the story that guides us. The story that inspires us. The story that tells ages yet to come that we answered the call of history.”
Poet Amanda Gorman spoke:
“And so we lift our gaze, 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.”
Most of my friends, via text and social media, expressed relief, spoke of hope being restored.
“Stan,” my third-party-voting, ultra-left friend posted a placard that said:
“Joe Biden is president and the children are still in cages.”
One can always depend on Stan to kill the joy.
And speak the truth, especially when it’s unpleasant.
And so I must thank Stan for the reminder: Even if our new president seems decent and kind, even if the poem was amazing, even if that yellow coat was to die for, it is not permission for me to allow my sigh of relief lead to sinking back onto a soft cushion of complacency and watching others do their jobs. “The first hundred days” is not a series to watch. I also have a hundred days, and hundreds of days after that, each one an opportunity to stay informed, to protest injustice and needless suffering, to advocate righteous agendas, to communicate out loud to those who represent us that we expect pretty rhetoric to bookend action.
Honestly, I would love it if today was just Day 1 for a new president… but Stan is right.
It’s Day 1 for me, too.
It is Day 1 for us all.