I got credentialed for Obama last night, so I was there!!!! It was powerful to feel the entire stadium vibrating with the foot stomping, and to be close enough to take pictures of history makers like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, and to see one of my heroes, Charlie Rose, experiencing the same moment I was. We were experiencing, mostly Democrats, but also a huge contingency of Republicans, Independents, Libertarians… Well-dressed and sportswear … heels and sandals… all cultural and national heritages represented in both body and garb, at least by Denver standards…  old and young, people flying and driving half-way across the country and people like me who live close enough to walk ….. it was cool. (Yes, cool…. I’m middle-aged, and it’s one of my core words.)

And that’s not the biggest story. For me, my story, my real life demonstration of the promise and the demands of Candidate Obama’s Acceptance Speech is the people.

We, the people entering Invesco Field from Federal Blvd, are my story. Other stories in that parking lot began before I arrived, and some were still being lived as I finally successfully traversed the blacktop, alleys, hills, and crosswalks of getting to Invesco Field. My story lasted for 2 ½ hours. Hours standing in that disorganized waiting mass of people who were there on faith – absolute faith that somehow this is the only place they can be. What followed, IMHO, birthed LIVING our faith as we created a pragmatic temporary community. Out of confusion and disorganization came collaboration and strangers talking and ended with appreciation and sometimes budding friendships.

We had followed instructions scrupulously, and few had water bottles. Yet there we were in full sun at the heat of the day wandering around on blacktop. For any of you reading this who have summers, you already know that the temperature reflecting off the ground literally radiates heat. Across an open space you can see the heat waves hovering over the asphalt.  Thousands weaved a crawling line on the blacktop. Some discovered they had stood in a dead line that never moved and went nowhere. No guides came to help, and cameras were the security patrol.

We began to talk to one another. We began to coordinate ways to verify we were in a moving line that went somewhere. We sent scouts. We sent emissaries to ask for water (which came after awhile by the truckloads… literally). We held one another’s place in line. We left line to stand in other “necessary” lines, putting our faith in total strangers that they would hold the space for us. We exchanged cell phone numbers to communicate news across the parking lots and fields. We held each other’s elbows and leaned on one another’s shoulders as we traversed dirt hills. Sometimes we complained, but only a little. Mostly we talked and got to know one another and talked about how we were participating in history. Amazingly little talk of politics. A lot about believing in ourselves again. Or for the first time.

All while being hot and thirsty and a little pissy about the lack of planning. Mostly, we were just happy to be there. We were happy to be there. As time passed and needs grew, we were still happy to be there, but saw a long line of the same ahead.We stepped up to taking full responsibility about how to take care of ourselves as best we could. We were there for something bigger than our comfort or lost time or missed show or disappointment in the bureaucracy for being unable to plan better for the known numbers. AND we had needs. So we communicated, collaborated, and cooperated in getting whatever we needed done. We lived the promise. Can’t say we were all happy about it, but we accepted reality for what it was and made the best of it.

With the power of faith in not only the importance of the event, but also the possibilities of real change and hope, and with the intention of making the best of it, we did. Through teamwork among strangers and respectful boundaries about not cutting in line while holding the space for those temporary team members, we moved forward toward the Stadium and our future, while still doing what we must and run errands for one another. Great conversations happened with people I would never meet otherwise. The 45 minutes in line at Burger King for a soda and burger was a great conversation among 3 middle-aged women and 2 East Coast college freshmen women, and the occasional sporty guy who popped in to keep us updated on any forward movement in our “real” lines. We expanded our emotional bandwidth with ourselves by connecting as women across generations and the country, sharing why we were there and creating a kaleidoscope of perspectives that broadened each of us. It was cool. The whole experience was cool. Beyond the fireworks and the stadium and the great speeches and mass cheering, here I am. And there you are. It’s the people. It’s always, when we peel it all away, the people.

At work. At home. In our citizenry. In our faith. In our life. When I speak on working virtually, I say Technology is the Enabler, but People are the Key… It’s about the emotional bandwidth of how people contract with and keep their commitments to one another. That’s how work really gets done. Well, yesterday afternoon while missing Jennifer Hudson and Stevie Wonder and MLK III, the real story was on that blacktop and in that field and in those alleys. The real story was the people. It’s always the people. I’m really grateful this person was there.