how anyone ever accomplished anything in the south i do not know. how anyone ever accomplished anything in the north, during summer, is equally confounding. because here i am, looking at my not-so-lengthy to-do list and, after some pretense of rescheduling, deciding that nothing is important because the heat is just too oppressive. the heat and humidity have assumed a steady stream into my room. i've tried closing the curtains and the window, opening the curtains and the window, even a hybrid of the two, and i have an industrial-sized fan in front of my face, settled on the highest setting. i'm even lounging in the most unflattering and light outfit i could manage - and here i am, baking in my bed, looking at my to-do list and deciding that everything can be rescheduled or put off until we dip into the 80's.

off the top of my head, i can only think of one truly great floridian (which, appropriately, denotes residency in florida, not origination): ernest hemingway. he settled in key west, the southernmost tip of the archipelago that extends from the peninsula, closer to the equator than i've ever lived and, thus, much more prone to heat. and while he wrote tremendous novels, novels of love and courage and honor and independence, he also killed himself. because he died before the widespread adoption of the necessity i call air conditioning, something tells me it was the heat that did him in. no man, however strong, can write of matadors and the spanish civil war and brett ashley in that heat and not lose the will to live. and so he lost it, and so he shot himself.

i'm not yet at that point. though my shirt has decided that it can, indeed, support condensation, i've not given up. my laundry's in the dryer, and it gives me an excuse to feel productive without actually performing any labor. it's an accomplice in my attempts at delusion: i have done this, and so i can go on to do other great things. really, though, my accomplishments are sparse and pathetic and rather depressing. i've managed to keep my room clean. i moved a mirror. i've oriented a fan in front of my face. i've written two paragraphs. i took a much-needed shower. end.

unfortunately, i'm not like ernest hemingway (aside from the obvious unfavorable comparison between my writing and his). neither love nor courage comfort me in this oppressive heat; and even then, i'm unable to accomplish even the imagery of such things when the weather happens to be more conducive. he became lost in thought, in words; i am lost in ambivalence and reluctance. it is 91 degrees. two more hours, and we shall achieve the 80's. then, maybe, i'll be able to look at my to-do list with something more than an eye for excuses. i'll get around to what i've been meaning to do all along. and unlike ernest hemingway, i won't give up - because i have a fan and few accomplishments and a sense of purpose. sometimes, that's all one needs. 

no regrets

it's easy and convenient, and maybe too frequent, for us to gauge victory in tangible terms. a win is a win, for instance; and a loss, no matter how engaging or fulfilling, is a loss. right now, as barack obama claims the democratic nomination and hillary clinton prepares to concede, i feel like the victor. maybe that language is a little too self-congratulatory - i'll say, instead, that i feel fulfilled. i was a part of her campaign from the beginning, and though there is a sense of loss - will i ever regain the time i spent working for her evasive victory? probably not - i'm struck more by my feeling of accomplishment, of satisfaction, of pride in my chosen candidate than whatever regrets or recriminations i could fashion.

instead, with all that has happened and with all that will happen, i'm more than satisfied with my decisions. i could have supported her from my desk chair, i suppose; i could have been satiated with petty donations and occasional blog posts, or talked to my friends and neighbors (the most useless box a potential volunteer could check on our GET INVOLVED sheets). i could have done this or that, walked into a campaign office when the fancy struck or when i had the spare time, making calls with passionate indifference. but i didn't do that. i'm proud of the fact that i gave up  a semester for hillary clinton. and if that semester wasn't as successful as it could have been - she did not, in fact, win the democratic nomination - i've no hesitancy to fight for my beliefs.

my mother didn't quite see it that way; it took a while for her to regain her composure. working and on break, she had to fight a few co-workers to change the channel to CNN in time for hillary's speech. as she told me later, she felt a sense of emptiness and futility watching her on tv - those hours we spent calling behind our desks, persuading the good folks of northern new hampshire to support a woman for the presidency, the photos i sent her, the relationships i cultivated in plymouth: these were wasted, for our candidate did not win.

but my time off was more than that. it was more than phone calls, canvass packets, volunteers and interns, photos, snowbanks, expense reports. it was cathartic, relieving, real. i wouldn't trade that experience - the people i met, the stories i heard, the urges to quit i had to fight and the sense of fate i had to embrace - for anything. i grew more during those six months in new hampshire than i had in a full year of harvard. and i actually made history by doing it.

people will say (in fact, pundits are already saying it) that hillary clinton should have conceded tonight. these are the same people who said that she should concede after iowa, after super tuesday, after ohio, after pennsylvania, after indiana, after west virginia, after kentucky, after puerto rico. these are also the same people who said she was the inevitable candidate before any contest was conducted. they will demean her, belittle her, repeat the charges and accusations that have followed her since she declined her husband's name and began making more money than the governor. but they won't be able to take away the fact that she was the first woman to win a presidential primary; and they won't be able to take away the fact that i was a part of it.