Happy Election Day. Hope everyone got out and rocked the vote. You know, because… vote or die. Just kidding. A quick trip down Memory Lane of MTV’s election coverage of days gone by.

Since I turned 18, I have never missed a vote. Not even mid-term elections. It is my civic duty, I truly believe that. But it’s also a way for me to put in my two cents. And sure, I’ve heard it all. “Why bother?” or “it’s a waste of time.” And my personal favorite: “you’re just one person. You could never make a difference.”

And perhaps that is true. In another world. But here in America? One vote actually can make a difference. Well, perhaps not just one vote, but don’t you remember 2000? Bush vs. Gore? That brought new meaning to the term “neck and neck.” Or “he won by a hair.”

But in some arenas, I am a complete and utter optimist. A glass half-full kind of girl. And of course, I’ve been disappointed before with election results. But it never hampered my feeling that my vote was heard. Loud and clear. Because I went to the polls and pulled the lever.

Around the time that we relocated to Utah, my super-brilliant and involved husband turned me onto a site called Open Congress. It’s a sight that gives you, the constituents, a home base of sorts, to help you keep track of your representation: Congresspersons and Senators, if you will. The people who represent you. And you are pretty important, I’d say.

How did your Congressman (or woman) vote on a specific bill that you are watching? How many votes has your Senator missed? And even the names of your Congressperson and Senator, should you not know. Don’t be embarrassed. It happens.

So in the great tradition of my voting family, I headed to the early vote, last week, and took my place in line. I waited patiently, listening to the sound of silence. Voting here, in my new hometown, is hardcore. More so than anywhere else I’ve lived. And as we all anxiously awaited our turn, no one spoke. Not a word, except when the guy with obvious tunnel vision walked in and didn’t see the line to his left, the line of eager voters, and tried to get into a booth. Of course, at least a dozen people in the line called his faux pas to his attention, but that was it. Those were the only words spoken.

And as I stood there, slowly creeping closer and closer to my own turn in the booth, to make my voice heard, I was struck with the thought of how the voting booth is America’s last bastion of personal space. The last place of complete privacy. You are free to make your choice, whatever it may be, and no one is going to accuse you of being a bleeding heart liberal. Or a gun-toting fundamentalist. You are in your own world. No one is sidling up to you. No one trying to get ahead of you. Standing next to you, rather then behind you, with the hope of taking your place, jockeying for the better position. No one is chatting loudly on his Bluetooth, to no one in particular, about nothing in particular. Or typing feverishly on her Blackberry. There is nothing but respect in the voting cue. We’re all here for the same reason… to make our voice heard. One way or another.

My turn at the lever was a long one. I take my time. I read every word. I think before I put in my vote. And I often get a little misty-eyed. Why? It’s a powerful thing, having the right to vote. And as as American, I am always grateful at how fortunate I am that I get to speak my mind. No one tells me who to vote for. No one forces me to vote. No one makes a mockery of this great tradition by pretending that it’s a democratic vote. It is a democratic vote. We live in a democracy. We are the fortunate ones.

And so, in the sanctity of my own voting booth, this girl voted for the better candidate…