Early in the morning on Jan. 20, as night approached its zenith across the Pacific Northwest, I was awakened by a melody from my BlackBerry.

It was 3:50 a.m. in Washington, D.C. — just a little over eight hours until Barack Obama’s inauguration as the 44th President of the United States.

For me, it was time to head out the door.

Like hundreds of thousands of fellow Americans, I made the journey to our nation’s capitol to witness the beginning of a new chapter in the unusual story that is the history of the United States: the swearing in of our first African American president and the end of eight long years of sorrow.

I knew that getting to the National Mall that morning would be no easy task. I had scouted out the grounds in front of the Capitol the day before to plot my approach into the city and make a note of the location of the security checkpoints.

Still, I didn’t know what the day would hold.

Surprisingly, I had no trouble making it to the outskirts of the city by car, and getting into the Metrorail station where I hoped to board a train for downtown hadn’t been too challenging. It was only when I walked into the station that I realized just how unprecedented the crowds were. There was barely a single foot of space left in front of the turnstiles. People were cheering as they passed through and on to the escalators.

As the first rays of sunlight broke through the darkness, I finally found myself on the station platform, and then on a train. At first, the trip was uneventful, but soon we began stopping periodically to wait for trains ahead of us. Hours later, the conductor announced that we were approaching L’Enfant Plaza, the station where I planned to get off.

But the train did not stop. As we hurtled past, I could see that there was no movement on the overcrowded platform. People appeared to be stuck on the stairs, unable to get out.

I detrained at the next stop and began the long walk towards the National Mall.

After about a mile, I reached the public viewing area, which LED signs announced was already full. I had a pass to get into the ticketed area, so this news did not concern me, but I wondered if I would even be able to reach the gate in time. The streets were already jammed full of people trying to make their way into the Mall.

I walked away from the Mall and turned left to go up Independence Avenue. As the Capitol came into sight, I breathed a sigh of relief, and joined a funnel of people trying to get close to the gate. There was no line at the security checkpoint itself, so I breezed through. I walked to the fence and surveyed the Capitol. The sun was shining through the clouds, heralding the peaceful transfer of power from one administration to another.

Everywhere I looked, people seemed to be having a good time.

Suddenly the fence in front of me began opening up. The Capitol Police had decided to allow people to cross the street to the standing area in front of the Reflecting Pool.

And so, as the ceremony began, I found myself with a grand view of the seat of government of our country, a camera in each of my hands. To my great relief, I had made it, and shortly, the inauguration of a most remarkable, charismatic person would unfold before my eyes.

As members of Congress took their seats and Aretha Franklin sang, I thought of the long campaign that had led to this moment. Truly, the man who was about to assume the highest office in our land was the fitting representative of a movement that had reshaped our politics and our culture.

Noon arrived, signaling the beginning of Barack Obama’s presidency.

The words of Obama’s inaugural address brought satisfied cries of “Amen!” and “That’s right” from the people around me.

A dream had been fulfilled.

All I could feel was peace.