It’s hard to prepare for limbo, even if you know it’s a possibility.

Back in the days of air travel, they might tell you your next flight was delayed, but that didn’t really change the feeling of the interminable layover once you’d landed and the wait began.

Well, here we are in limbo. And just because it was widely expected, it’s still hard to sit in.

Let’s acknowledge where we are before attempting to make meaning of it.

Yes, we’re overdue for a serious reckoning with the electoral mechanics of our democratic republic.*

Yes, it’s true that some votes count more than others under the current system — in the sense that a senator from Wyoming represents a lot fewer people than one from California, or that a marginal vote in Pennsylvania might be more decisive for the national outcome than one in Massachusetts. [Don’t even get me started about the relative weights of votes cast by residents of the District of Columbia or U.S. territories.]

And yes, it’s likely true that there’s no option on the menu that completely or even nearly matches what you’re looking for in a public officeholder.

But yes, it is also true that your vote matters. Especially this year, when the safest and surest way out of a deadly and undemocratic present — that is, to begin actually dealing with the issues we can now no longer ignore — is a thumping margin of victory.

The president has always been antsy about numbers: the 2016 popular vote, say, or the [non-existent] inauguration-day crowds, or the truly enormous losses claimed in his tax filings. No matter how gerrymandered your district or “safe” your state, run up the score. This is not a game that should go to overtime.

There’s not going to be a better system under this president. Minority rule isn’t about to be relaxed. And there’s certainly not going to be a candidacy or a presidency we can be proud of.

The best, fastest way to open the door to all of that is to show this guy the door today.

***

*A friendly semantic reminder about exactly what kind of government we’ve got. Yes, it’s a republic. But it’s also, importantly, a democratic one — and the fact that it’s not a direct democracy does not in any way give those in power license to do whatever they like, either over or “in the name of” the people.

Democracy means “rule by the citizens.” Republic means “the public thing.” To construe either of these to mean that “if the president does it, that means it’s not illegal” is rank cynicism.

Tomorrow — and likely the coming days and weeks — is ultimately about competence.

If you haven’t already cast your vote, it’s time to choose the people (and the party) most likely to guide us through this fraught season and into a livable future.

And once you’ve voted, hold on tight.

I intentionally tried not to read too much this past week. But two FT articles stick out:

First, Simon Schama’s long meditation on “the two Americas,” in which he compares today’s travails to LBJ, 1965, and the passage of the Civil Rights Act in the wake of “Bloody Sunday” in Selma.

“I still want it to work out well for this country and that shrinking part of the world that looks to it, in spite of the evidence of its decadence and near-collapse, for inspiration and renewal,” Schama writes.

Second, Janan Ganesh writes “an elegy for hillbilly elegies,” interweaving Bruce Springsteen’s career with the brief candle of elite (and journalistic) U.S. fascination with rural lives and the people who lead them.

Suffice to say, how to make an unum out of pluribus is an issue that’s going to be around a while.

The one and only op-ed I contributed to Georgetown’s student newspaper, The Hoya, was published January 27, 2009. It’s worth revisiting the first couple of paragraphs:

Last Tuesday at noon, the presidency passed from one tired, oft-maligned party to the opposition, led by a candidate widely hailed as a breath of fresh air for American politics. Despite a slip-up in the administration of the oath of office, Barack Obama did indeed become our new president, and the Bush administration was scattered to the four winds shortly thereafter. And that was that.

Partisan politics, lobbyists, Beltway insiders, late-night comedy and American democracy will go on. What most people in this country and the free world (now under new management) may not realize is the sheer improbability of the event they have just witnessed.

I didn’t write the headline, but the article was published under the title, “Inauguration Sets the Standard for Democracy.”

In the coming weeks and months, our democracy will face at least two tests: first the election, then the inauguration. In both cases, hundreds of millions (if not billions) of people will have to trust and accept both the process and the result.

How probable is a smooth transition this year? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t feel as high as I’d like.

It feels so hard to know, doesn’t it? Everything’s moving so fast, and it’s all so uncertain.

What can anyone do, for that matter?

The first task is to be clear about category distinctions, and then to be clear in those categories where that’s possible.

For example, what’s happening with our government is wrong. We can endlessly debate the specifics and details, but on the really big and important stuff — pandemic response, foreign policy, general competence, respect for the rule of law — it’s wrong.

It’s going to be very difficult to move forward until we can face the brutal reality. And if that’s difficult to accept, it’s worth asking why.

Is it because confusion serves particular interests?

Is it because you can’t let go of truths long held to be self-evident?

Is it because admitting systemic wrongness (not to say evil) might have personal implications — about culpability, complicity, or consequences — that are difficult to face?

Even if that’s so, it’s still possible — and important — to be clear where we can be.

I confess I haven’t researched this deeply enough yet, but I have a growing sense that there’s a very interesting study to be done on what the pandemic has shown us about the actually-viable paths to prosperity in the United States today.

Without debating specific functions [e.g. STEM vs. humanities], how many companies have demonstrated that they can survive or thrive thus far, and how many will pass that test a year from now?

My guess is that the number is much too small for comfort — smaller, that is, than the usual pipeline of [indebted, ambitious, none-too-specifically-trained] “talent” coming out of colleges and universities are counting on.

Colleges and companies are both being forced to adapt. But don’t lose sight of the graduates, job-seekers, and gig workers caught in the gears.

It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to see that this is shaping up to be a very difficult winter with Covid.

With strict lockdowns already coming back in Europe, it’s more than reasonable to expect that a more responsible U.S. administration will follow suit.

And, with that, the old Achilles’ heel of our employment/insurance relationship will be front and center once again. At the same time, the Supreme Court will be hearing (or will have heard) yet another case on the constitutionality of the Affordable Care Act.

Only in the United States could one party’s determined response to a pandemic be to use the courts to strip away health insurance — yet here we are.

As more and more people begin to fall out of the current “holding pattern,” the new Congress’s first two jobs will be to pass massive fiscal stimulus and (likely) to re-legislate health care.

Whether or not we are spared the drama of a constitutional crisis over government of and by the people, failure to immediately deliver massive economic and healthcare support should and likely would lead to a crisis of legitimacy for the idea of government for the people.

It’s no secret to say that information is getting faster, or that there’s more of it.

But it’s always pertinent to remember that there are cases in which more information isn’t better, either in terms of the quality of information itself or the speed or quality of decisions — which is what information is ultimately for.

With so little signal amidst the noise anymore, watching another debate, reading another op-ed, or viewing another advertisement almost certainly can’t pass any kind of a “what’s it for?” test.

If it’s bias-confirming in a way that helps you get through the day, that might be a good enough reason to consume it. But it’s worth being clear about what’s infotainment or soothsaying.

Sportscasts are full of information — even statistics. But when was the last time your team’s performance in alternate uniforms during this phase of the moon back in 1977 predictive of what actually happened this time?

Pages and pages have been spent on the question, “If they hate Washington so much, why do they want to go there so badly?” And the past five years have been consumed with the question of whether or not the president is in fact a politician.

In the latter case, it doesn’t matter. Our politics have changed more in the past five years than under any professional politician in memory.

What’s more interesting to consider is the growing trend of “non-politicians” in politics. Is Bernie Sanders, for example, a politician?

We keep reaching for easy, broad labels like populist or autocrat. Those might not be the most instructive. Better, perhaps, to consider the historical precedents of “outsiders” who found ways not only to enter politics but to change the field of play.

The Gracchi of late-Republican Rome spring to mind; surely there are others. Now as then, the field has been shifted from this team vs. that one to “the people” vs. the status quo.

That’s a heady experience for both sides. Reframing yet again is essential: the debate has to come back to alternatives we can all live with.