When baby boomers would talk of their life in the 60s, we, generation X-ers, would teeter between envy (life was exciting then, you could do something for a change), eye-rolling boredom (with all due respect, but will you ever let John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. go?) and utter incomprehension (could you honestly believe that you've had to have lived those times to understand anything at all?).

The optimism, the community spirit, the unselfconsciousness of that era seemed so irretrievable and so, well, out. Like the graying hairs and settled ways of those once rebellious young people who believed they could change the world, the 60's had acquired a patina of antiquity. 

We, generation X-ers, were a different tribe altogether. Gone was the earnestness, in was self-deprecation. We took ourselves less seriously, or at least painstakingly maintained so. We were not crowd joiners. Even after we got our own Vietnam, and a chance for a new peace movement, we were a bit wary in our calls for peace. I remember being at a few anti-war rallies and must admit I could never shed my skepticism completely, my cheers heartfelt but subdued. Years of learned helplessness make hopefulness seem so naïve.

But when I sat at 6am on November 5 with my newborn daughter on my breast and my laptop in my lap, I felt and saw all of this change. Thousands of miles away from Chicago, where president-elect Barack Obama was giving his victory speech, I felt part of something big, momentous. I was a participant in history and felt a connection to the people on my screen and that felt joyful, not hockey.

That night I whispered to my daughter, "I hope this means you'll be living in a better world."  And while it occurred to me that in 15 years she may roll her eyes at me when I tell her of the night Obama got elected, I hope beyond hope that this time around hope will not be in such short supply.