I've taken a trip back East to our nation's capital three times, all for work-related conferences and meetings. Each time I go to DC I try to bookend my stay by a day or so coming and going so I can take some time to be a monument-ogling, Metro-surfing, politico-watching tourist.
My most recent trip put me in DC at an odd time. We were knee-deep in presidential ads and mud-slinging. Knowing first-hand how Cali was reacting to the muck, I was more than curious to see what the atmosphere in the eye of the storm would be like. I was impressed -- but hard-pressed to find do-dads that actually slammed either candidate. And believe me, I looked ... mostly because a colleague begged me for some anti-McCain trinkets.
Elmo went along with me, of course, because that's how my son finds out about my solo trips. And our flight back was scheduled for September 11. Many of my fellow travelers around me seemed nervous for the timing. Not me. I figured it was likely the safest day of the year to travel. But as I took my last tours of the city in the morning on 9-11 before my afternoon flight back to San Diego, I marveled at the pomp and circumstance of the day. All around the city, flags were at half-staff. Soldiers of every branch of the military, in full dress, spent the day visiting the memorials and marching around the Mall.
For one day, I felt like everyone around me wasn't concerned with who would be our next President. Each and every tourist and Washingtonian alike seemed to just take a moment to breathe, to take in the world around them, and to remember. And I was never more proud of my country and the world in which I live.
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