Friday night. Less than 48 hours until I touch down in Denver, and I'm already feeling the excitement, the nervous energy, the eager anticipation. I've done this before. Only this time, I know what to expect. Sort of. Suits and sneakers are ready to go. I'm bracing myself for the sleepless nights, immeasurable cups of caffeine and copious amounts of alcohol; preparing for the intense, non-stop action, the constant sprints between backstage and the floor, and most of all, the unparalleled excitement. It's hard to describe the raucus roar caused by thousands of people in one place, hoping, praying and genuinely believing that they're looking at the next President of the United States. It is, after all, why I'm going. I want to see it for myself. I want to be part of history as it unfolds in front of my eyes.
In 2004, I was part of the staff. This time, I'm on my own dime. My involvement happened almost by chance. A Facebook note, an offhand comment, an unexpected email and a golden opportunity. I don't come anywhere close to falling within McCain's version of "rich," but I couldn't pass this up.
So, we'll see where my shoes take me. If my past is any indication of the future, it won't be anywhere you expect.
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