Six degrees of separation from America's historic election

Election Day is always an exhilarating day.

It's a day spent dreaming about America's future. In the morning, you have no idea who will lead our country for the next four years. But the time you go to bed, you can say a prayer for the country's newest leader. No matter who wins and who loses, it is the one day you can mark on your calendar and say history will be made today.

This year I felt an outsider.

Through our military television satellite we don't get any commercials, let alone political commercials. My family, who has been bombarded with political ads on the Iowa airways from more than two years, would say this is a definite advantage. But without these ads, I took a more active approach to learning about the candidates this year. I would watch whatever news shows I could get through our satellite dish. Any programs that weren't shown, I watched online. The Internet is a lifesaver when living overseas.

I read both Obama's book and McCain's book. I read my Time magazine weekly and the Stars and Stripes newspaper daily. But through it all I couldn't help but feel six degrees of separation from this week's presidential election.

My absentee ballot was signed, dated and mailed three weeks ago. This was before former Secretary of State Colin Powell endorsed Obama and Gov. Sarah Palin appeared on Saturday Night Live. Since my vote was cast, I've felt like my job was done for this election. I had no choice, but to wait for the rest of the country to catch up and cast their votes.

Election Tuesday was completely anticlimactic. The day was quiet and strangely calm in Okinawa. It didn't seem quite right. People weren't leaving work to go to the election sites. People didn't have “I voted” stickers stuck to their clothing. And you don't see election posters on the street curbs.

It was a strange feeling knowing that the presidential election – one that will shape our country's future – wasn't happening on Tuesday in my time zone.

I woke up on Wednesday morning, expecting to know the election results. But we didn't. We didn't know anything, except that some Americans waited in line for hours to vote. I was amazed to see the crowds gathering in Washington, D.C., and New York City.

At 8:30 a.m. election television anchors recapped the day's events. At 9:30 a.m. I read that the polls were closed. Ballots would be counted. Votes would be announced soon.

My excitement slowed. I didn't think we would hear the results of the presidential election until 2 p.m. But at 1:15 p.m., I was eating my lunch while Sen. John McCain gave his concession speech from Phoenix, Ariz. At 1:30 p.m. I watched Sen. Barak Obama give his acceptance speech at Grant Park in Chicago. And one line struck a cord with me:

“And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world - our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand.”

This line reminded me that even though I'm not living in America right now, I'm still an American. My heart melts for the red, white and blue. My eyes moisten when I think about sacrifices of our nation's military.

This week I realized that the best way to appreciate America-- its democracy and its freedoms-- is to pack your bags and say good-bye to our great country.

It's an old saying, but it's honest: Separation truly makes the heart grow fonder.