A View from Abroad: The 2024 U.S. Election

I'm (not) watching the U.S. choose a president from outside the country again.

Dear lovebugs 🐞,

Here we go, again. For the second time, I’m watching folks back home choose a U.S. president from thousands of miles away. In case you didn’t already know, I’ve consistently lived between the U.S. and Europe for nearly 30 years. That’s most of my life. Of course it has shaped my worldview.

Because I process the world through words, speaking and writing, this Tiny, Private Love Letter is an attempt to help make sense of it all. Not the election. That’s a fool’s errand this early in the game. I’m talking about me, specifically life beyond candidates and casting ballots. Eight, in fact. Thanks to the legal voting age and my current age, this is my 8th time participating in a U.S. election. I want to share what I’ve learned about getting out of “the fight.”

Let’s start from the beginning.

1996: First Vote, A Student’s Vote

I was a college student, newly exposed to so many different people and ways of seeing the world — from my little midwestern campus, of course. At that point, I’d never had a passport. I packed several friends into my car and drove to nearby cornfields where a local Bob Dole / Jack Kemp rally was taking place. We joined the crowd and hoisted up our giant, blue “Students Vote Clinton-Gore” signs. ✌🏻✌🏼✌🏽✌🏾✌🏿

At the rally, I remember an old guy with a beard, big belly, and Oakleys told us:

Him: You tryin’ to be like Evel Knievel?

Me: I don’t know who that is.

He and his friends laughed. Then, a woman kicked us out and tore up our signs, which was probably illegal. The field was public property. And, the signs were our private property. I could say: Gee, that the first time I really realized how politically different we all can be. That’s on the surface. On a deeper level, I thought: No one on my campus knows who the fuck Evel Knievel is either! When Clinton won, to me it signaled that old folks like the bearded pale guy would simply die out. The following year, I rode that wave — and youthful spirit of change — all the way to London because I’d moved there for work and pleasure.

2000: Watching the U.S. from Amsterdam

Fast forward. I swapped the UK for the NL. Picture this: abandoned buildings overtaken by squatters, graffiti, and random people offering to sell you various drugs on the street. Sounds like any night on Lisbon’s touristy Pink Street. But, back then, when I lived in Amsterdam, the city had the exact same vibe. Its low cost of living put the city on the map for backpackers.

It was my first time watching an election from Europe. I thought:

• Healthcare, school, and hospital visits should be free.

• Women are human.

• Judge people not “by the color of their skin but by the content of their character” as MLK said.

• Universal Basic Income is a no brainer: Everyone should have it.

• No one should work until 65, only to live out the remainder of their days in relative poverty because a fixed income can’t keep up with costs.

• Genocide is bad, and we should intervene if we detect it happening.

In the U.S., those beliefs made me a Socialist. In the Netherlands, back then, Dutch people called me Center-Right. Because they already had what the U.S. was still fighting for, and I still believed in supporting businesses / entrepreneurs (especially small businesses, women-owned businesses, and Black-owned businesses).

The Dutch—and probably most of Europe—saw Gore as a bore, a normal guy who believed climate change was real. They figured the other guy was not too bright, and not quite prepared to “lead the world”. He was a nepo baby whose family had gotten rich from exploiting the earth’s natural oil and gas reserves.

When Gore lost, Eurobabies (and I!!) were surprised. It was the first time that I thought: Maybe I’m out of step with the way most Americans think? Many American friends in Amsterdam agreed — they stayed abroad. One got married and started a family in South Africa. Another bought a house in Serbia. Me? I went back to the U.S.

I’d recently suffered a breakup with the Dutch guy, and I needed time to heal. My family, and friends I’d known the longest, were in Chicago. Later, while working for Newsweek in New York, work would give me refrigerator magnets of magazine covers with candidates. My magnets are pictured above. But, that’s the future.

2004: Sweet Home Chicago

Back in Illinois, I was convinced that things might change. Plus, there’s stuff I still love about the U.S. — including its diversity and spirit of innovation. In America, anyone can be and do anything. I voted, and I threw myself into local politics. I helped people from all parties register to vote, educated people about the issues, and volunteered at events. I cozied up to my local alderman and worked on a Senate campaign to help elect a Chicagoan. Remember, this was only a few years after September 11, 2001.

My guy’s middle name was “Hussein”. His opponent was a hot, tall, moderate Republican who was married to a Hollywood actress. Everyone thought that guy would win. But, when a sex scandal took him out, it opened the door for my guy. It felt like my work had paid off; I’d personally done stuff to support causes I believe in, such as education, healthcare, women’s rights, and more. It made me impatient with people from any party who sit on the sidelines, complaining but never contributing.

2008 — 2012: New York City, City of Dreams

Fast forward, and I was living in Nieuw-Amsterdam. Centuries earlier, the English had taken the colony from the Dutch and renamed it New “York”. In 2008, I was there working at a Dutch company in Midtown Manhattan, speaking Dutch on a regular basis, and harboring a huge crush on a Dutch friend who, in his pastime, organized Dutchies worldwide.

Back then, there was something so electrifying about the U.S. in general, and New York in particular. For starters, the Illinois senator I’d previously campaigned for had stepped up to run for president. In Times Square, European expats rented out a huge building to throw a party. EurOBama was for expats who couldn’t vote, but wanted to celebrate a candidate whose policies were aligned with the European countries that they (and I) loved.

I spent most of the evening making out with a Swedish doctor. We stayed late, kissing and watching the votes roll in. When giant-screen TVs all over the place announced Obama had won, Doc looked a me with a serious expression. I was a Black American woman and former Obama campaign volunteer. He explained that the win “is a really big fucking deal.” No shit. 😊 Perhaps he, too, processes the world through words. Maybe he was speaking out loud about how it was just sinking in for him.

We all ran out to the streets to extend the party into Times Square. It was a magical, swirling crowd of cheering, music, cars, honking horns, singing, and dancing.

I was born on January 20, Inauguration Day. America gave me its first, Black, U.S. President — an Illinoisan!! — for my birthday. Thanks to midwest connections, I got tickets to the inauguration. I put on a blue, sparkly, sequined minidress, caught the train to Washington, D.C. and watched in person as Obama got sworn in. It was cold. I wore a coat! Here’s me holding my ticket to get in.

A few years later, my excitement for New York had dimmed. I wanted more. I would soon turn 40, and I didn’t want to be one of “the old people” in my Upper East Side building. In the stairwell, I would walk past a grey-haired, arthritic, short woman as she struggled on each step to get to her tiny studio apartment (a rental). It was a fifth-floor walkup. She bragged that she’d lived in the city for 25 years. I never wanted to be her. I packed up my bags, unsure of where I was headed — but I knew New York wasn’t it anymore.

2016: Election Night and A Big Decision

Newly living in Washington, DC, I was focused on starting my job, making friends, and setting up a new life in yet another new city (again). I voted early in 2016—always an absentee ballot voter from Illinois—but I didn’t do much else. Election Day, friends and I went to a bar near the White House. We figured, if Hillary won, we’d walk down the block to celebrate the U.S. getting its first woman helming the White House outside at the White House’s front gates. How cool would that be?

But, as the night went on, things seemed a bit more dire. I went home. The next morning, I woke up to the news that Trump won via the Electoral College. I felt guilty. I hadn’t done anything personally to make Hillary Clinton lose, but then again, I hadn’t really done anything. She wasn’t my candidate; I voted for her, and then I sat on the sidelines, complaining without contributing further.

My birthday was still January 20, Inauguration Day. So once again, I’d get a new president as my “gift.” Fuck. That. No way was I going to spend my day in D.C. with Orange supporters flooding the city (though, as it turned out, his crowds weren’t very big anyway). Instead, I went to the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. Snow-covered mountains. Skiing. Celebrities. Film screenings — including the world premiere of climate activist Al Gore’s sequel to An Inconvenient Truth. Here’s a photo of the line to get in:

It felt like an escape. I knew I eventually needed to jump back in. So, during the 2018 Midterms — still living in DC — I donated, worked the polls as a Election Judge, and door knocked for candidates I believed in. Oddly, it all somehow made me feel more alienated from the U.S.

Is this what living here means? Am I going to be an 80 year-old-woman still fighting for women’s right to birth control?!

It didn’t help that a friend had recently moved to England and become a dual U.S.-UK citizen. (This was pre-Brexit, so she was also a U.S.-EU citizen by extension). I was jealous. I hadn’t worked at the Dutch company in over a decade, and I spoke only English in my daily life now. It felt like my international life was slipping from my grasp.

If I go back to Europe again, I decided, it’ll probably be for good.

This time, I’d do it differently. My UK and Dutch lives had been completely unconnected. Older and done with starting over, I wanted my next stint to be my last. In fact, my next European move wouldn’t even be a “stint” at all. I was done living in the U.S. full time.

Even if I came back for a couple weeks, months, or years, I wanted a true “home” in Europe—a place where I could own property, make friends, learn the language, and, someday, retire by calmly living without chaos. And, I wanted beaches, too! ❤️ 🌊 Maybe that place would change, too. But, for now, I knew I wanted to go back to Europe.

One day.

2024: Letting Go of the Outcome

Life surprises you.

Four years ago, when I wrote A Calming Election Day Reminder, I had no clue that rioters would storm the Capitol approximately 60 days later. On January 6, 2021, I was still living in Washington, D.C., literally right up the street from the chaos. We had fighter jets and other military planes in the skies. The Mayor enacted a citywide curfew. It felt like we were at war at home.

That’s the day that I decided to leave the U.S.

Also, when I wrote A Calming Election Day Reminder, I didn’t know that exactly 12 months, 2 weeks, and 2 days later, on November 19, 2021, I’d land in Lisbon to start new chapter.

Not gonna lie, I love being back. Here, the issues that dominate the U.S. political scene—healthcare, education, guns, and reproductive rights—are effectively managed in a way that frees up so much of my personal energy. I don’t feel like I have to fight for the world I want every day. Because, for the most part, I already live in it.

Outside the U.S., people are hyper focused on the election’s global impact. But back in Texas, for example, friends tell me political ads are mostly about trans people. Leftists on Instagram insist that Kamala Harris and Donald Trump are exactly. the. same. person. And there’s a guy going viral on TikTok because he can’t really tell you what tariffs are or what they do—but he’s backing them with his whole chest anyway. If you want to laugh as you cry, watch Mike Judge’s 2006 film Idiocracy. At this point, it’s a documentary.

Fighting wears you out, and I have very little upper body strength anyway. 😂 Estou a tornar-me uma velhinha! I want to live without this idea that things like healthcare, education, and human rights are stuff we should “fight” for. We should “expect” them, and do what we need to do to make sure everyone has them.

In my life, my U.S.-based firm supports NGOs, nonprofits, and businesses in our areas of social impact. We help them do healthcare and voter engagement better. Work aside, during this election cycle, I personally:

• chatted politics with expat friends over many glasses of Portuguese wine,

• helped 4,646 people donate $544,932.55 to get Kamala Harris elected, and

• reminded fellow Americans abroad that our votes count. With 9 million of us living outside the U.S., we can genuinely shift an election.

Maybe one day we’ll achieve gains that have already been standard in Europe for decades.

Maybe.

One day.

The Future: U.S. or Europe?

Balance, flow, and letting go. Yeah, living in Europe now means I can just be myself, but I know my truest self could never sit on the sidelines for long. I’ll always be an American, and I’ve never really “left” the U.S.—nor its elections.

I think you should vote for whoever you believe is best for the job.

And, no—I’m not watching real-time results as they roll in. I’ve done the doom-scroll-and-stay-glued-to-the-TV thing before. It’s just not healthy. Instead, I’m hosting an American friend and her Portuguese husband for dinner with a (modified) Whole 30 to preemptively counter my holiday season weight gain. I’m cooking:

• juicy duck enchiladas,

• fluffy cauliflower rice,

• spicy black beans, and

• an amazing homemade guacamole.

The agenda: enjoy food, drink Portuguese wine, and have light conversations. Besides, polls don’t close until 7 and 8 p.m. across U.S. anyway — that’s midnight to 4:00 a.m. in Lisbon. Hopefully, I’ll be sleeping. Sou velhinha! 😂

No matter who wins, the work isn’t over.

So, raise a glass folks! Here’s to my eighth election. 🥂 And, to encouraging everyone to get off the sidelines. Show up, do your part, and then let go. Maturity has taught me to stay part of the process without attaching myself to the outcome. There’s always more work to do anyway.

If you’re reading this, no matter who you are, where you live, or which candidate you support, I hope this letter inspires you to stay engaged.

For the love of all things holy & good guacamole, vote—if you haven’t already!