I have been suffering from a rare affliction of late—rare at least insofar as I am not a felon and do not live under a dictatorship. After years of lying dormant and undetected a certain green monster (or perhaps red, white and blue is more accurate in this case) has raised its head and caught me—a Canadian living in New York City for the better part of 10 years—square in it's jaws. It seems I've come down with a full-blown case of voter-envy.

As a New Yorker envy is not an unfamiliar sensation. This is the capitalist centre of the world, after all, and I'd argue much of this city's commerce is driven by the sixth deadliest sin. But voter envy? This was something new altogether. Voting has always been something I encouraged other people to do. Like eating vegetables and exercising, it was important.  But it wasn't something I did, or particularly wanted to do for that matter (a feeling I apparently shared with almost half the county). Until now.

Here's how it started: Last month I accompanied my roommate to a local school gymnasium so that she could vote in the Super Tuesday primary. I'd been watching the political scene from bit of a catbird seat this past year—I write about the election and (endless) debates for the Huffington Post and had traveled to New Hampshire to cover the primary circus there—but I'd never actually gone with anyone to vote.  Which I suppose is a bit like covering a sport without ever having played it. So, along with the civic-minded residents of 24 states, I thought I'd get out on the field, as it were, and see for myself. As much as I could, anyway—as a green card holder I have many privileges but voting isn't one of them.

Lo and behold, there was something quite moving about sitting in crumbling auditorium chairs and watching as fellow New Yorkers, all of whom had risen along with us at the crack of dawn, step behind the curtain to pull the lever (to vote in a primary, no less). Such humble beginnings for such a grand result. Such a direct connection to such a powerful and remote office. Shortly I found myself succumbing to the cry of the disenfranchised everywhere: I wanted to vote, too!

How to explain this surge in latent citizenship? I am certainly not new to America elections—during the last decade I have followed them with great interest. Up until now, however, it has always been enough to make sure my friends were registered and follow the Sunday morning shows (and from time to time wear out my welcome with talk of mid-term elections and Maureen Dowd's latest). Even as my involvement in the American election process took on a greater and arguably more direct role this year, it never bothered me that I couldn't vote. In fact, as far as media coverage is concerned, being Canadian has rarely been anything but an asset—it's a sort of built-in objectiveness, a natural "close third person" point-of-view that comes with the citizenship. Still, the more involved I've become, the more people have been asking me whether I find it strange to spend so many of my waking hours on something that, at its most basic level, I cannot participate in. The truth is I don't find it all that strange. For the most part I've been quite content to be a spectator, albeit a loud one, with a front row seat.

Perhaps this can be attributed to the fact that I'm a New Yorker, a species famous for holding itself apart from the rest of the country even while we live with it. Beyond that, though, I do think that as a Canadian I am quite used to snuggling up to an elephant I have no control over. It seems normal. 

And so it was with some surprise that I read of a recent CBC poll that found that 15 per cent of Canadians would give up their right to vote in the next Canadian election for the ability to vote in the current U.S. one. Fifteen per cent!  Forget about asteroids, I thought, this must be some sort of end of times sign.

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