It’s nearly eight o’clock on Election Night 2008. I’m sitting in my living room listening to CNN’s running commentary as vote tallies from around the nation stream in across the TV screen.

Sen. Barack Obama needs only a few more electoral votes to clinch the race and change history. There’s a restrained but unmistakable excitement in the news anchor’s voice as he reports the latest precinct results. Tension hangs like smoke in the air.

And there it is: the call. Barack Obama has been elected the next president of the United States. The TV coverage immediately shifts to Grant Park in Chicago, where a hundred thousand people have gathered to witness Obama’s response to this unbelievable turn of events. Everywhere, people are crying, cheering, dancing, and singing. As Obama addresses the nation, Oprah Winfrey sobs into a man’s shoulder while Jesse Jackson stands silently, tears pouring down his face, cherishing the moment that he, along with many others, thought would never come.

I sit cross-legged on our couch, stunned and overjoyed, but thinking about the future as well. In my mind, I envision the sheet of paper lying upstairs on my desk that reads “Inauguration 2009: Payment Confirmed.”

In that moment, the world never felt bigger, the possibilities, never more extraordinary. I knew I was going to witness history.

Two months later, as my alarm clock flashes 2:45 a.m., I roll out of bed, put on every single layer I’ve brought with me to Washington DC, and head downstairs to meet my group outside our hotel. My friends’ faces reveal a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation as we walk through the park streets to catch the 4 a.m. metro to the National Mall to witness the inauguration.

The train is packed, but it’s nothing compared to what is waiting for us when we emerge at L’Enfant Plaza. It takes 45 minutes for us just to shuffle our way from the train door, through the dark tunnels of the station and to the station exit. People are crowded like sardines in a can. Most are wearing Obama buttons, T- shirts, and hats, but one hearty soul appears, wrapped in nothing but an American flag. We’re packed in so tightly, I can hardly retrieve my Flip video camcorder from my pocket to document this pre-dawn craziness.

Eventually, we emerge on the street. Although the sun has not yet risen, the streets are flooded with light from the swarm of police vehicles darting back and forth. We walk quickly over to the 7th Street entrance and find a place in line. Three hours later, after much confusion, we stumble onto the Mall, tired and cold ⎯ even bruised ⎯ but exhilarated.

The crowd that formed immediately around us consists mostly of African Americans, many of whom are D.C. locals. However, in the few moments that I can see over the mass of people, I realize just how diverse a crowd it is. People have come not only from all over the United States, but from around the world. I spoke with an Australian couple who flew halfway across the globe, just so that they could be a part of history.

We look up at the Jumbotrons as a now former President George Bush and his wife arrive on the podium. Around me a chorus of booing from hundreds of thousands of people resounds through the Mall. The president waves anyway, his characteristic jaded look breaking for one moment in a sad smile, a valiant effort to appease a country that has lost faith in him. I find myself torn; I feel relieved that he will soon be out of office, but also feel pity for him as a person.

A rumbling begins among the masses of people that gradually coalesces into a rhythmic chant: “Obama! Obama!” Sen. Dianne Feinstein steps onto the podium to introduce Chief Justice John Roberts, who will preside over the swearing-in. Obama himself rises from his chair, and the cheers escalate. Then, in a moment, everything is silent. Justice Roberts’s slight slip-up doesn’t even register to most people. They’re all waiting.

On the words, “So help me God,” the world literally explodes. Everyone is cheering ⎯ whites, blacks, Christians, Jews, Democrats, Republicans ⎯ with each other. As President Obama begins his address, people all around me begin to cry tears of joy. We are all looking up at our new leader, who speaks to us with such conviction and sense of purpose that we are ready to believe again.

He speaks first of the past and the bravery that our forebears showed in times of crisis. He speaks of the future, of what we must do to keep the flickering lantern of hope burning strong. Then he turns to us, the citizens of the United States, and asks us to have faith and patience with the government. He turns to the world, and calls for a change from all of us, because, as he says, the ground has shifted beneath us, and we must shift with it.

In a moment, the world has become so much smaller. I can feel the immediacy of our problems and the proximity of our enemies. But mostly I feel the latent power of a renewed America, all gathered in one place: our ingenuity, endurance, and courage all represented in the small slice of America that stands on the Mall. I feel as if we’re here having a discussion around the dinner table, with our president speaking to us as he would his family. In fact, we are, in a way, a family. We are one people, no matter our differences, working for a better and brighter future.