Why Elections Feel Stolen
Too few decisions, even fewer discussions.
Every time I vote, I’m convinced I’ve done something wrong. If I mail my ballot in, I spot check every single dot, make sure I haven’t misread the instructions, and drop the thing off with my palms sweating like I’m going through airport security. That same irrational fear like, “What if I accidentally packed a gun?”
Voting in person is even worse. The fluorescent room, always some gym that makes me feel like I’ve been picked last for dodgeball again. How far away from this room must I stand before I’m legally allowed to utter the word Bernie? I can never remember. As they wave me over to the booth, I feel like I’m taking the SAT again. Head down, make sure no one can see your answers. The same anxiety as I walk my paper up: did I miss something? Did I forget a whole section that will render my entire opinion invalid?
Either way, voting is the loneliest thing in the world. It’s isolated, regimented and quiet. Everything I was told to be as a kid and couldn’t quite achieve. At no point during the voting process is it encouraged to stick your head up, look around the room and ask, “Hey, what are y’all putting for number 7? I’m not sure I understand the question.”
It’s a test we take in silence. Alone. And then we go home, and like anxious…
