I was pan-frying ground turkey when it happened. I added some basil and a pinch of pepper, and turned to glance at the TV. Plastered in red and blue lettering across the bottom half of the screen: “CNN Prediction: Obama Wins Presidential Election.” I turned the gas off—turkey be damned—and stood with my hand over my mouth and goosebumps creeping up my spine. Wow, I thought. So, this is democracy. I had only cast my ballot an hour before, but by 8:20 p.m. my ticket was cashed in.

I’ve never voted before. In fact, I’ve spent my life struggling with the dual identity of being a double major in British and American. I was born here, but grew up there, and returned to the U.S. just in time for my first presidential election. Because of my American identity, I was never allowed to vote in the U.K. and I was never old enough to send an absentee ballot across seas. But then suddenly, there I was—strolling into the polls after a hard day at work, and making my well-rehearsed decisions final. I wore my “I Voted” sticker with pride when I walked to the Starbucks around the corner and claimed my free coffee. I still carry the ballot stub in my wallet.

Back at home, I watched intently as John McCain took the stage. The crowd started to “boo” as he graciously offered congratulations to Barack Obama. McCain put up his hands in protest. “Please,” he ordered. He expressed his admiration for the inspiration Obama had become to millions of Americans. He recognized that both he and Obama loved their country. He emphasized the morals that the two candidates share, not those which separate them from one another. In a single speech, he humanized the campaign. “I offer my sincere sympathy that [Obama's] grandmother did not live to see this day,” said McCain. “Although our faith assures us that she is at rest in the presence of her creator and so very proud of the good man she helped raise.”

At this point, I admit—I was in tears. Not for this white-haired man who stood at the podium the image of dignity and patriotism, nor for the passionate young candidate he was ceding to, but for the country I had loved and missed for more than 20 years. This was the America I was raised to believe in: a land of unification, of determination to propel the wings of greater good, of people standing hand in hand—regardless of life experience, beliefs, age or color—under the flag of the country they all so believe in. America is the land where polar opposites meet: where one can stand in the boiling heat of the Mojave desert and stare up at snowy mountain tops, where homeless people sleep above the stars on Hollywood Boulevard, where peanut butter meets jelly and donuts are a breakfast item.

When Obama walked on stage with his wife and children, there was a strange feeling of nostalgia—as if the anticipation that this moment would be so historically significant had glossed it with an air of repetition. How many times will we see view this moment in the days, months and decades to come? How many times and ways will it be analyzed, criticized or praised? How many people will share this image and store it in their mind for the length of a lifetime? (Q: “Where were you when Obama was elected?” A: “Cooking Spaghetti”)

To me, a certified American just learning about Hamburger Helper, American Football, and SNL, Obama spoke a very specific message during his election night speech. This is a man who is very aware of how the world views America from the outside in, and his words were directed at the cynics across seas. To many, America has become the butt of a bad sitcom joke in the last eight years. I have witnessed the anti-American sentiment grow. European and worldwide perspectives changed and the U.S. became nothing more than a land of ignorance, bigotry and gluttony. What the world needed was a sign that America is on course to regain its dignity and rehabilitate the stereotypical behaviors that have turned so many heads in disgust.

“If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy… tonight is your answer.”

The following day my sister told me that even in her corner of the quaint English countryside on the outskirts of London, the British were rejoicing. In their usual way, the British media was reacting with dramatic skepticism—broadcasting images of Obama hiding behind a bullet-proof screen while the results were announced, and speaking of the unspeakable fear that Obama will indeed be the next JFK. But excitement was still pulsating through the rainy isle. “It’s like America is entering a new time,” my sister commented. “And the whole world is happy about it.”