Elizabeth Warren - Persist

A t last: election night 2020.

The three of usBruce, Bailey, and mewere piled up on the couch. Husband Bruce on one side, golden retriever Bailey stretched out on the other, and me mushed in between with a blanket on my lap. We had a fresh supply of popcorn and plenty of beer. In memory of Sean Connery, who had just died, Dr. No was teed up on the television.

I was hopeful. But Id been hopeful four years earlier, and we all saw what a dumpster fire election night 2016 had turned into. So tonight I munched popcorn and swigged beer with a mix of sky-high expectations and deep-down dread.

By the time the three of us had settled in to our eating-drinking-watching marathon and the movies opening credits were starting to roll, some results were already trickling in.

Ping!

In came a text about the first presidential results. Actually, it wasnt a text sent specifically to meit was a text sent to a group of Democratic senators.

The very early news looked good, and one member of our caucus couldnt wait to tell everyone about what was happening. The fact that exactly the same news was also on television/radio/internet/carrier pigeon and being shared with several hundred million people worldwide did not change the fact that senators were eager to tell each other what was going on.

Ping! Ping!

Responses to the original text poured in. Emojis. Exclamation points. LOL and OMG and even a WTF. Everyone was a little giddy, but hey, it had been a very long four years.

Ping! Ping!

And then more texts started coming in. Friends. Family. Former students. Folks who had been working for months in the trenches. Have you heard? When will Katies results come in? Can we flip North Carolina? What the hell is going on in Miami?

Ping! Ping!

Bruce had to freeze the movie every few minutes so I could check the incoming messages. Not ideal, but I didnt have quite enough self-discipline to turn my phone off. After all, what if the world came to an end while I was watching James Bond battle the evil Dr. No?

Besides, the pinging brought some good info. I learned about the behind-the-scenes fights to prevent ballots in Michigan from getting tossed out. I got the scoop on which parts of Wisconsin had already been counted and which were still outstanding. A friend described the timelines for getting the remaining uncounted votes in Pennsylvania and Arizona. Another explained the dynamics of the two Senate races in Georgia. Even my granddaughters were in on the actionour Bitmojis were getting a real workout.

Election night was long, but Sean Connery was terrific and the popcorn tasty. And by a little after midnight, two things seemed to be true. First, Joe Biden, a good leader and fundamentally decent man, would replace Donald Trump as president of the United States. (Thank you, Lord!) Second, at least for the moment, control of the Senate was uncertain.

It was a happybut not a backflips-happyending to a tense night.

About two in the morning, I sent my last text. Bruce had been reading news reports out loud, but he gave up, too. We both brushed our teeth and switched off our phones. Bailey had passed out hours ago and was now lying half under our bed and half out. I stepped over him and got under the covers.

But I couldnt sleep. Change was comingand I was making a plan.

In 2012, I was new to politics. In 2020, I was new to losing.

I had given my campaign for president every ounce of my energy. Id laid out my plans and fought as hard as I knew how. And Id lost.

I dropped out of the race on March 5. The next morning, Bruce and I bundled Bailey into our car and headed for a walk around Fresh Pond, one of Cambridges loveliest spots. I felt a little numb, not just because Id lost but because for fourteen months almost every second of every day had been devoted to my campaign. Speeches. Team meetings. Airplanes. Town halls. Television interviews. Reading policy memos. Calling $3 donors. Writing plans. There was always something to do. Always.

And thenclickit was over. The curtain came down and my world instantly became quieter.

When Bruce and I got back from Fresh Pond, I noticed a message on the sidewalk in front of our house. In bright pink chalk, someone had written, Thank you! I smiled and went inside.

Our neighborhood is a bit of a jumble. Across the street is the oldest farmhouse in Cambridgeit was built in 1681. On either side of it are 1920s apartment houses. Down the block are rambling Victorians that have been cut into multiple units. The four houses on our side of the street date from the 1870s. The bumpy sidewalks are made of brick, so they dont provide a great canvas.

But later that morning someone left a box of chalk outside, and more messages appeared on the sidewalk throughout the day. Dream Big Fight Hard. Pinkie Promises Are Forever. Our Queer Family Loves You. Children drew flowers and suns and ponies and rainbows.

Messages started overlapping and crawling up the driveway. Bouquets and notes piled up at our front door. Standing at our living-room window that afternoon, I teared up. So many people had been part of the campaign, so many people had worked so hard, and it always made me smile to know that millions of people had cheered me on from a distance. My race was over, yet I was feeling very loved. In fact, I thought I might just wallow in it for a while. I could nurse my wounds and think about all that might have been.

The next morning, I opened our kitchen door, which leads to a small porch on the side of our house. Out on the sidewalk next to the driveway was the biggest message yet. In two-foot-high letters, each letter heavily chalked in, was a single word:

PERSIST

I felt like Id been hit with a bucket of cold water.

Yeah, I was bruised. Damn, Id lost. But I had spent more than a year running for president because I cared passionately about making a lot of changes. And even though Id dropped out, I still cared just as much about making those changes as I did when I was running.

I looked at the message on the sidewalk for a long time. As I did, I gave up any thought of wallowing. Then I said something to myself that millions of people have said to themselves after a painful loss: Suck it up and get back to work.

There was still plenty to work on. The first wave of the COVID-19 pandemic was just beginning to hit our shores. The resulting economic pain would not be far behind.

Back in January, I had seen convincing evidence that we would soon be facing a dangerous pandemic. Id issued a plan for immediately beginning to detect, treat, and contain COVID-19 outbreaks, and I followed it soon after with a second plan detailing the more advanced steps needed to address both the health and economic threats. Now, in early March, the coronavirus was taking off with a ferocity that was growing by the day. I gathered up those ideas from the campaign and began to push for an aggressive congressional response. I talked with then-candidate Joe Biden about the crisis several times, and he quickly embraced both a coherent public health response and a range of ideas for shoring up the finances of Americas working families, including providing student loan relief and expanding Social Security.