My father always used to tell me about how he'd never forget where he was when JFK was shot--in his classroom. The teacher began to cry and sent everyone home. I had always longed to be a part of something monumental, to say that I had lived through history. Today I can say I have.

I remember feeling this way on election day when there was a pervasive electricity in the air, the kind which floats in our lungs and forms the clouds on the days when we all know something larger than life is on the horizon. On that day, I could feel something so much greater than I understood, and today I feel it once more. As the president elect was sworn in, as he delivered his speech, the entire world stopped. People paused, turned on their televisions, ignored phone calls. No one spoke; we were just observers of this phenomenon. There are not many things which can force all of mankind to pause. There are not many days like this, there are not many people like our president. His speech sent chills throughout my body; he has a way with words as if he had invented this language himself. He's a powerful figure. His existence is the joy of many. Love him or hate him, no one can deny the sheer magnetism of his being.

This is what it feels like to live through history. This is what it feels like to know that one day your children will bring home a textbook and ask, "Do you remember this?" This is what it feels like when the planet, rich and impoverished, war torn and desolate, conflicted and hostile, turns its eyes in the same direction. How Barack Obama rises each morning knowing that he is the most influential and scrutinized international superstar is beyond me. Here we are, on top of a mountain we've been climbing for an eternity; we're looking down at the earth underneath us, knowing just how high we've found ourselves. We trudge onward with the sky above us, the past below us, and the future in our hands.