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I woke up today late...really late. For two nights I've had election-related insomnia:

Night #1 was spent listening to and watching election news into the wee hours of the morning.
Night #2 was spent crying like a baby, and trying to wrap my brain around the bigness of what had happened.

The race was called while I was working at the conversation school near my house. I had just ran from a staff meeting into the office where I quickly begged for use of the computer, logged on and promptly burst into tears. I clicked from news site to news site trying desperately to disprove Obama's victory and couldn't.

I wanted to jump out of my skin.
I wanted to fly.
I wanted someone to punch me in the face.

None of that happened.

I immediately tried calling my family and after dropped connections and missed calls, I got a hold of my brother. We celebrated over the phone briefly, then I asked him to get my father to call me. Which he did. By the time my dad called I had collected myself...or so I thought. But upon hearing the utter joy in his voice, I began to cry all over again. This time harder and with snot.

Lots of snot.

I ran into the stairwell to curb the embarrassment. While sitting gracefully - legs akimbo, snotting and doing that stuttered-breath-inhale that little kids do when they try to get it together - my father desperately tried to get me to listen. When I came to, he told me that Obama was about to take the stage, then he put the phone up to the television so I could hear. There in a stairwell, half-way around the world, I listened to answered prayer. Stifling my sobs, as to hear more clearly, I listened intently and immediately felt drunk with a mix of joy, relief, and disbelief.

A cocktail that should not be imbibed at work.

After Obama finished, I briefly blubbered words (I'm not quite sure as to what they were) to my father, and probably thanked him for bringing our worlds closer.

After work, I stopped by the market on the way home to grab dinner. With cheeks stained with mascara and a silly grin I walked into my local grocery store. I had been to this store countless times, but it looked different. Everything looked different and I felt different. Then it hit me: I'm not ashamed to be from America anymore. I can hold my head up high and feel, for the first time since I've been here, unapologetic about where I'm from.

This was when the total-body euphoria set in.

I couldn't get out of the store fast enough for fear of grabbing a random Japanese person and kissing them squarely on the mouth, with tongue. Japan is a quiet place. You'll rarely see someone under the age of 18 express extreme emotion publicly. And if you do, it is usually accompanied by apology or glares from onlookers. So, I knew that I had to leave and leave quickly.

I hurried through the check out, hopped on my bike and sped home. I thought to myself, "If I could just make it home to scream in my pillow, I won't explode." No such luck. I was a block away from my house when, like a person with Tourette's syndrome, I yelled at the top of my lungs, "OBAMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I then proceeded to laugh like a crazy person, peddling with Lance Armstrong speed home.

When got home, I sat glued to my computer watching America errupt the same way I had. Only this erruption was "acceptable" and in much bigger numbers. I had never missed being home so much. So I cried some more.

Today, after the aforementioned oversleeping, I arrived at the private school in the nick of time. During my break, I was greeted by the math teacher. We've spoken in the past: a delightful mix of broken Japanese and broken English. I wasn't sure what he was going to say, but braced myself. And in perfect English he said to me with a smile, "Yes we can."

I said it back, smiled and excused myself. I cried in the bathroom.

This is big people, and I just feel so fortunate to be alive to witness and participate in it. There aren't words enough to describe how big, incredible, and life affirming this all is.

So I'll simply say: Yes. We. Can.