I don't think a living or family room should be designed with the TV as the focal point. I don't need all the seats to have a comfortable, unobstructed view of a screen—so I don't. But there are a few events that have me rotating my favorite chair 45 degrees giving me a head-on, unimpeded viewing angle so my neck doesn't need to swivel. The Olympics. The Indianapolis 500. And yes, election night.
ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý So it was that on Decision Day 2019 I moved my chair into position, fired up the Keurig and got the coffee brewing as I prepared for the ballots to be counted and the results to be broadcast. My phone was also put to use to get real-time results but I won't watch too much coverage on it. The screen isn't big enough for something so significant. At least, significant to me. Earlier, as I pulled open the door to our polling station, I looked at my family and, perhaps a bit too solemnly, said how important this day is. Cue the eye roll. They know it too, and it goes without saying, but for some reason I still felt the need to say it.
ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý So with the TV on one news feed, my phone on another, and the laptop on a third, I was ready for the counting to begin.
ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý I've been asked in the past if I would ever run for public office. (I'll pause a moment and wait for the laughter to cease.) No, no and no. Not because I don't see the incredible importance of the role, but because I know I am not cut out for it.
ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý In my high school days, I spent some time on my school's Student Representative Council. In order to run for executive office, we had to collect signatures on nomination papers, campaign (well, create posters and buttons), and make a speech. On election day, ballots were brought to classrooms and everyone voted. Then we waited for the counting to begin.
ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý We vote on several things in our lives—beyond the political realm. Community organizations, service groups, clubs and churches hold elections to determine who will make up a slate of officers, what programs to pursue, or how to spend money. The ones with the most votes win.
ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý ÌýBut what do we do if our candidate of choice gets defeated, or the program we push for gets cut, or an idea we support is dashed? What if the counting is done and the numbers didn't go the way we hoped? Or what if they do?
We count a lot of things, but unlike an election it's not always the case that the one with the biggest number wins. Coins. Sheep. Minutes. Calories. Our age. Blessings. In some cases a higher number is better. In others, lower is preferable. It all depends on what is being counted.Ìý So what exactly was counted Monday night, or in any election setting? Votes? Of course. But something else, too.
Each time we raise a hand or cast a ballot we are indicating our support not just for a candidate, platform or program, but for the system itself. By participating we are demonstrating the belief that it matters. So while the vote count determined which individuals will be MPs, the vote totals say that what we did counts for something in a broader sense. And this is the part that is equally significant.
Public office is not something I would pursue, but that doesn't mean I don't value it. I do. Tremendously. My decision to vote was, and will continue to be, my way of saying this matters. So is my choice to speak up when I disagree, or show support when it warrants, or ask questions of those who have been entrusted to make decisions on my behalf—whether they received my X or not.
I was involved then, and I will continue to be involved. So to all local, provincial and federal officials, we remind you that the counting never stops. We matter—and not just on the days you need us to go to the polls.Ìý Let the counting continue. Not the votes…but the voters. That's my outlook.
Ìý
Ìý
