political indifference

I remember that funny blue hat that Hillary wore with a reddish dress along the parade route. I can hear the cadence of Maya Angelou’s voice as she read the 1992 inaugural poem. There was that rainy inaugural day for George W. Bush. I’m not American, yet I marvel at the grandeur of this great nation as it renews its commitments to itself every four years.  It doesn’t really matter who we are placing into this office on this very day; this nation’s citizens know it’s time to affirm that this person is now the leader of this country.  We don’t have to like it, but I think most of us can still be amazed by this rich, public display of tradition and respect it. I am a political junkie, but first in a sense that I am in awe of how wonderful the system is at its very core.

I watched the Obama Inauguration Day festivities for hours. This was the day that should have made me emotional like every other inauguration. I felt utterly nothing. I watched the same scene again and again only to be speaking about how great it is, but felt nothing at all. I kept telling myself that this is the moment to tear up, or this is the moment to cheer. My heart couldn’t have cared less. A slight tick of political indifference I felt in the summer let me know that I may be headed for a long depression. But it’s more than that. I intellectually know this will pass, but when it comes to politics, I’d rather be a Republican than be indifferent.

The indifference is almost uncanny.

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