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In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

—Robert Frost Election Night

The night of November 8, 2016, started with me chasing my granddaughter and pretending to just miss catching her. Charlotte would squeal with glee and shout, “Again!” and I did it again. This went on for a while. It was almost enough to distract me from the television.

My family and senior staff had gathered at the Peninsula Hotel in New York to watch the returns. I’ve always dreaded election nights. There’s nothing left to do but wait.

Hours earlier, in the predawn darkness, we finished a final whirlwind campaign swing that took me from Pittsburgh to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to a massive rally in Philadelphia with the Obamas and Bruce Springsteen; then to another rally in Raleigh, North Carolina, capped by a raucous late-night duet between Jon Bon Jovi and Lady Gaga; and finally back to Westchester, where a crowd of fired-up supporters met us on the tarmac even though it was close to 4:00 A.M.

I was exhausted but happy and enormously proud of my team. Standing with Bill, Chelsea, Barack, and Michelle in front of tens of thousands of people at Philadelphia’s Independence Hall was one of the high points of the entire campaign. The President hugged me and whispered in my ear, “You’ve got this. I’m so proud of you.”

After a quick stop at home to shower and change, Bill and I voted at an elementary school in Chappaqua. People pulled out their cell phones to text friends or discreetly shoot photos of me getting ready to vote. I walked over to the table staffed by diligent volunteers and signed my name in the book of eligible voters. We joked about whether I had identification to prove I was really me. (They didn’t make me produce a photo ID, but many Americans would have to do so, and too many would be turned away that day.)

Campaigns are full of minor annoyances and major frustrations, but at the end of the day, it’s inspiring to watch our democracy whir into action. When all the arguments are made and rallies are finished and TV ads have aired, it comes down to regular people lining up and having their say. I’ve always loved that quip from Winston Churchill about how democracy is the worst form of government—except for all the others. I still believe that, even when our system feels totally nuts. (Electoral College, I’m looking at you!)

It’s quite something to see your name on a ballot. After twenty months, twelve debates, and more speeches and town halls than I could count, it all came down to this. All over the country, 136 million people were going to look at my name and Donald Trump’s name and make a decision that would shape the future of the country and the world.

Before I could mark my ballot, a woman walked up and asked if I would take a selfie with her. (There really are no boundaries for the selfie obsession—not even the sanctity of voting is off limits!) I told her I would be delighted to, as soon as I was finished voting. I filled in the bubbles by my name and the down-ballot candidates, walked the ballot over to the scanner, slid it in, and watched it disappear.

I felt pride, humility, and nerves. Pride because I knew we had given everything we had. Humility because I knew the campaign would be the easy part; governing in this contentious time would be hard. And nerves because elections are always unpredictable. Most of the polling and analysis looked positive. The day before, my chief pollster, Joel Benenson sent me an encouraging report. He said I was leading Trump by 5 points in a direct head-to-head, and by 4 points when third parties were factored in. “You’re going to bring this home,” Joel told me. Still, I knew our campaign faced hurricane-force headwinds, thanks to Comey and the Russians. Anything was possible.

Voting turned out to be the highlight of the day.

When we arrived at the Peninsula Hotel in the late afternoon, the word was, “Things are looking good.” The streets were clogged with police officers and Secret Service agents. Our hotel was just a block away from Trump Tower. Both candidates would be within a stone’s throw from each other as the results came in.

I tried to keep my head clear. Unlike my husband, who devours every exit poll and stray anecdote on Election Days, I didn’t want to hear it. I’m not convinced the breathless reporting during the day is reliable. And why stress about something you can no longer do anything about? In a few hours, we would all know the outcome.